


a little touch of heavenly light

by theredhoodie



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Mentions of Rape, Time Spans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 17:59:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theredhoodie/pseuds/theredhoodie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>and gyda grew up love and fell in love with a priest…<br/>and she may be scarred but she is beautiful…<br/>and the priest is not quite a priest any more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a little touch of heavenly light

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this came from. It started with a fanmix and ended with nearly 24k words of fic. I tried to follow as much of a show/legends/actual history as I could! It's very long and sweet yet a bit heartbreaking and angsty as things go on. I hope you enjoy it anyway!
> 
> And this probably wouldn't have happened (ok it would have but it would have SUCKED) without my amazing beta EMMA who took out time in her weekend to edit this entire thing for me like yeah, she's amazing and she deserves all the awards for helping me make this sound as good as it does!
> 
> Also, I recommend listening to the fanmix while you read it :)  
> [FANMIX](http://8tracks.com/theredhoodie/a-little-touch-of-heavenly-light)

Her boots and the bottom of her skirt were soaked through. It was worth it, as the basket at her hip was full of fish from the stream. She had never been the grandest of fishers, but she had gotten good enough that she was sent away often. She enjoyed the solitude. While the river was near to her home, it was still better than being stuck inside all day.

She walked these paths on an almost daily basis. She also knew the ways of her people, especially their restlessness as of late, so she had a thin dagger hung around her hips. She was not a grand shieldmaiden like her mother, but she could protect herself if she needed to. She had survived so much already, it would be a shame to waste her life just because she couldn't defend herself.

Not far from the river, a man slipped out from behind a tree and she stopped short, hands gripping the woven basket.

"Hello, pretty girl." He was much bigger than she was but she refused to cower. Shoulders strong, back straight, she wondered how fast she could reach her dagger. His dark eyes surveyed the empty path behind her. "Alone, I see." He advanced and she took a step back.

"My stepfather is not far from here. I'll scream and he'll kill you," she threatened. She wasn't sure if her threat would actually be fulfilled, but this man didn't know that. She didn't recognize him, but maybe he knew the people of her village.

The threat didn't seem to faze him. He made a face like a grimace that might have been some form of twisted smile. "I will keep you from screaming," he said. He moved faster than his size conveyed possible, his meaty hand clamping around her throat.

She dropped the fish basket and found herself unable to take in more than thin breaths, much less scream. Her back collided with a tree and his eyes filled with lust. She struggled the best she could, but his hand crippled her, crushing her throat. She kicked out with her feet and landed one or two blows against his legs. He tossed her roughly to the ground and she sucked in a painful breath. Barely able to whisper, there was no way she could call for help. Fight rushed through her limbs and she scrambled to move away as fast as she could.

He roared something about her staying put, stamping down on the back of her dress. She made noises of protest, unable to do more than that. He got down on one knee and yanked at her shoulders, twisting her around onto her back, the sounds of ripping seams and muffled struggling filling the trees.

He would be better off knocking her unconscious; she was not a slave girl falling privy to the needs of men. She fought as much as she could. She even managed to pull out her dagger and she stabbed blindly when he glanced away from her hands. The blade dug into his shoulder and he roared and slapped her so hard she was dazed.

After tossing the dagger aside, he pushed up her dress and reached for his trousers. Suddenly, the feeling of a cold blade lay across the back of his neck, pushing against his skin and breaking through the first few layers with little warning.

"Get away from her." The words were spoken with clarity, but an odd accent.

The Viking turned his head to see who was pressing a blade to his neck but the man was standing out of view. Taking his hands off of her, he turned his torso, the blade further slicing through skin. He let out a laugh as his eyes fell on the small dark haired man standing there. He got to his feet, towering over the other man like a bear towers over a rabbit.

"Have you come to stop me with your tiny sword?" Blood seeped through his shirt at his shoulder and more trickled down his back. "You can have her when I'm finished."

The smaller man shook his head sharply once. "I don't think so." The Viking wasn't even bothering protecting himself. The blade pricked at his throat and he didn't even attempt to bat it away. It was only a matter of time before he would become enraged.

It didn't need to come to that, at least not here. Two more figures came down the path as the girl's senses returned. She propped herself up on an elbow and her eyes focused on the familiar face of her brother, Bjorn, and one of his friends. The looming figure of her almost rapist was blocking whoever had been the first to come to her aid. She wasn't entirely sure what happened and in what order, but all of a sudden she heard Bjorn yell about raping his sister and someone was at her side, grabbing her elbow and slipping an arm around her back.

"Gyda."

She had never been happier to hear the familiar tones of Athelstan's voice. She forced her eyes to focus, willing her limbs to move as she was pulled to her feet. She felt weak, and more helpless than a newborn, digging her fingers into his arm to keep herself steady. Her knees felt like they were gone and she wasn't sure how she could even walk, but soon they were away from the scene, the fish basket forgotten as Bjorn dealt out his own brand of justice.

It wasn't right, but Gyda had no husband, her brother was the closest male in her life to take on someone who tried to rape her. If she were stronger and more powerful, like her mother, she could have killed the man herself, but she was not and now she had lost her dagger in the brush.

By the time Athelstan was guiding her over to the door of her small home next to the dock, her legs felt sturdy but she could feel the stinging on her face from the slap and the scraps on her hands. The cottage was empty, not a whisper of noise to be heard. It was a very small place and it was difficult to hide.

"Where is Mother?" she asked, barely audible, as she was helped down on a seat at the table. Her hands fell heavy into her lap.

"Lagertha and Geirr left soon after you did," Athelstan replied, moving swiftly around the dark home. He had lived here for many years; it was small so it would be difficult for him to not have grown accustomed to the place. Moments later he placed a small wooden bowl filled with water on the table and curled a thin piece of cloth in his hand. He crouched down at her feet and lifted his hand to push her hair behind her ears. Her face was unscathed from the struggle, save for the red mark on her cheek.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" he asked, holding her gaze and waiting for her to speak.

Gyda didn't realize she was holding her breath, but she was. She moved her hands slowly, turning them palm up. She had grabbed rough ground during her scramble, and she had a long gash on one hand, blood staining her sleeve. Her other palm was scraped but in better shape.

He saw the damage and let the air out of his lungs. Pushing himself to his feet, he dragged the water bowl across the table and sat next to her on the bench. Dipping the cloth into the bowl, he took her least harmed hand and cleaned the dirt from her palm. She barely reacted, staring at her knees and watching the shining blood on her right hand.

Athelstan doubted the light scrapes would need a dressing, but the gash looked painful and deep on her other hand. He took that one gingerly, resting her hand on his palm and carefully washing the blood away from around the wound.

"I am sorry this happened this you," he said because the silence was stifling. He accidentally let the cloth drag across a corner of the cut and Gyda sucked in a breath and pulled her hand back, showing the first bit of conscious alertness since before she was slapped into a daze.

"That hurt," she said, her voice a whisper. Bruising was already showing itself around her throat.

"I'm sorry," Athelstan said again. "We need to wash this thoroughly or it will get infected."

His words swirled around her head but she understood them. She stood quickly, cradling her continuously bleeding hand against her stomach, intending to go outside and wash it in the bay. She moved without speaking, Athelstan following closely.

They had just reached the edge of the water, a short journey from the home, when Lagertha and her husband came from the direction of the town. Gyda didn't stop walking and stepped into the shallow waters because her feet and dress were already wet. She crouched down and plunged her bleeding hand into the cold water.

"What happened?" Lagertha asked, the words directed toward Athelstan.

He opened his mouth to speak but Bjorn entered the scene like a mad animal, spitting curses, blood on his hands from broken skin over his knuckles. Athelstan bolted forward out of the path of Geirr and splashed into the water, gripping Gyda's elbows and pulling her to her feet once again.

They stood at the water's edge as Lagertha calmed her son and made him speak in full sentences. Halfway through, Geirr growled something and disappeared toward the path.

"Help him," Lagertha told Bjorn, motioning for him to follow her husband to retrieve the would-be rapist. The shieldmaiden then turned to take her daughter from Athelstan, gripping the wrist attached to the severely cut hand, fury building in her eyes.

Wordlessly, Athelstan followed them inside. He took away the bowl with blood stained water and the blotched cloth as Lagertha wrapped Gyda's hand in a fresh, soft cloth. The sounds outside signaled that the attacker had been brought down to the house. His identity would be found and he would be dealt with more than being beaten by a Bjorn possessing the strength and fury of Thor for harming his sister. Geirr had the man, face nothing but blood and cuts and bruises, and was dragging him along, Bjorn following along with his friend, who looked like he had taken a hit or two to the face.

"Thank you," Lagertha said, turning back inside from the scene of the four men. Athelstan was helping Gyda to drink, her hands shaking.

"I barely did anything," Athelstan said honestly. Lagertha was the reason why he was still here and not sold of to someone new. He technically belonged to Ragnar, but they hadn't seen much of him in the past few years. Athelstan stayed with Lagertha and her children even after she married Geirr. Geirr, in Ragnar's absence, took over the role of  _Jarl_ , and he had become a powerful figurehead in Kattegat, even residing in both the Longhouse and Lagertha's cottage on the water.

Geirr didn't care for the slave, but Lagertha was a very powerful woman who managed to make sure that Athelstan would stay. He didn't know why she did it. He was a help, certainly, with chores and the like, but with Geirr here he wasn't needed to help catch fish to sell. Sometimes Athelstan wondered if she kept him because he had been brought here by Ragnar and she wanted to be reminded of the husband she loved. He didn't think she loved her new husband; but a woman alone with children wasn't safe, so she had remarried. The dynamics of the Viking culture, especially concerning personal relationships were mysterious and Athelstan was still confused by them.

"You did," she insisted, walking closer and stroking Gyda's hair. Gyda, sitting at the table once again, felt close to tears and her mother's touch made it all the worse. She closed her eyes tightly and slipped her arms around Lagertha's waist, pushing her face against her mother's stomach. "Bjorn told me what you did."

Lagertha's eyes flickered down the sword hastily pushed into Athelstan's belt. He quickly realized and pulled it away, putting it back in the corner where it lived. They both knew its secret place, for emergencies such as these. He was a slave; he wasn't allowed to carry weapons.

"I am…I'm sorry I didn't look for Gyda sooner. I should have realized she was gone too long," he said, placing the blame on himself.

Lagertha met his eyes and held his gaze before she looked down at her daughter, clinging to her like she was an infant and not a grown woman. "Gyda," Lagertha said softly, smoothing her hands over her daughter's hair and taking a step back, forcing Gyda to loosen her grip. Her hands fell to her lap and she tilted her head back. Her eyes were brimmed red but she refused to cry. Lagertha cupped her hands around Gyda's face. "Where ever you go, take Athelstan with you if you are alone."

"Mother," Gyda tried protesting, her voice weak.

"Only if you are going alone," Lagertha emphasized, her tone putting a halt to any further protest. Gyda nodded and looked over at Athelstan, who was standing in the corner, watching the scene. A long time ago, he would have been avoiding looking at either of them during their small exchange, but time had changed him.

He hardly felt like a slave anymore. Even Bjorn had grown so accustomed that he no longer blatantly spat out the word  _slave_  when speaking of the foreigner. Athelstan had rarely felt a slave in the traditional sense here, after the initial act of being stolen from his home and shoved onto a boat; Ragnar had always treated him well.

"Would you go back to find the basket? Check the fish to see if any are edible," Lagertha instructed, once again to Athelstan.

He nodded and left, walking back up the hill. The basket had gotten knocked onto its side, but it had a cover that kept almost all of the fish in. He had to scare off a few rodents eating the ones that had fallen out of the basket before he gathered them up and started walking back. As he walked, he noticed something glint out of the corner of his eye. Placing the basket back on the ground, he walked over to the other side of the path and pushed aside some brush to find a small dagger settled there. He recognized it as Gyda's. Sticking it through his belt, he walked back, the basket in his arms.

Geirr was returning the same time as he. The day seemed to have gone by in a flash; the sky was already beginning to turn to the pinks and oranges of the sun setting. Athelstan did nothing but place the basket inside before he walked back out. He didn't need to be told to do so; the look on the  _Jarl_ 's face and the words already spilling from his mouth was enough.

He walked to sit at the edge of the water, not far from the house but far enough. The argument inside was over him. Geirr thought Athelstan had something more to do with the attacker than Bjorn had told him since the young man had arrived on the scene later than Athelstan. Lagertha was defending Athelstan by way of trusting Bjorn's word. Their tones rose.

Dampened feet and a dress appeared in his peripheral.

Gyda lowered herself to the sand, hugging her knees to her chest.

He looked over at her. She looked sharper and more aware now. The words biting through the air reached both of their ears. Their noses filled with the smell of the sea, a long ways off through the mountain pass.

"Thank you," she said softly, throat still very sore from her encounter.

He nodded. He couldn't find any words that could truly convey any sort of verbal reply. Instead, he plucked the dagger from his belt and handed it over to her, hilt first. "I found this."

She turned slowly and then smiled at the sight, reaching out with her left hand to take the small weapon.

"I saw it up on the path and thought you would want it back," he finished.

She tucked the dagger away and rested her chin on her knees. The breeze off the water tugged at her golden curls and prickled at her damaged hands. Athelstan dug his hands into the sand behind him and tilted his eyes heavenward as the stars began to show and the sky grew darker.

They sat in silence and both of them were fine with that.

Gyda spoke little over the next week as her neck showed awful bruises and her right hand was nearly useless. Whenever she tried to use it, the bleeding would start again. Instead, she helped her mother weave; it was easy work. Athelstan did his duties: fed the animals and split wood, among other things.

Finally, she grew restless and well enough to leave the house and go do something. Not fishing this time, but gathering wild mushrooms and some herbs that she knew well. Like she promised, Athelstan went with her.

"I don't know how you can feel safer with me next to you," he said as they walked, cutting through the trees on no known paths. He didn't have a sword with him this time.

"Mother expects you to put yourself between me and whatever tries to harm me," Gyda said simply. She knew exactly where she was going.

Athelstan ducked under a branch. "Do you think something will harm you out here?" he asked. It was bright and early in the day. He hoped they wouldn't run into any trouble.

Gyda thought about the question, amusement written across her face. "A pig, perhaps," she said before walking forward quickly and stopping. She turned and faced him. The sun shone through spring leaves, showcasing her perfectly. The long hair braided back but relentlessly pulling out of the plait. Her face, shaped like her mother's, with her mother's nose and eyes, her father's mouth and chin. A not so fond memory was attached to the scar along the left side of her face. A clean cut ram from the end of her eyebrow down over her cheekbone and across her cheek to the corner of her mouth. It wasn't new, it was in fact years old, but it was very visible, a harsh line against her soft features.

"Tell me, would you throw yourself in front of a pig for me?" she asked in teasing tones, placing her hands on slender hips.

"I think I would," he replied, keeping his tone light. It was difficult. Between the permanent scar and the yellowing bruises around her neck, not to mention the scar she would have across her right palm, it was difficult for him to focus on anything happy when it came to Gyda. She was such a sweet, kind person, yet she had many more scars than one as young as her should.

"Good," she smiled, big and bright. "I will tell Mother, she will be pleased to hear that." Grabbing her skirt, she twirled around, lifting it so it wouldn't keep getting caught on the underbrush.

He followed, basket in hand for whatever it was they would be collecting. She took them into the denser, darker parts of the forest, where moss grew up the bottoms of every tree and toadstools began to pop up everywhere under foot. She began to stop and crouch down, inspecting them. Athelstan didn't have the skill to tell the difference between the good and bad, but she began to pluck the mushrooms and place them in the basket. The place was littered with them, so he sat on an embankment and watched her. Her hair kept falling out of the braid and she kept pushing it back behind her ears. She began humming under her breath.

He watched and she worked; neither of them felt it should be the other way around. Gyda disliked being idle. Athelstan hadn't been asked to do anything, so he didn't.

They stayed out until the basket was full of mushrooms of many shapes and colors and sizes and various herbs for cooking. On their way back to the cottage, they stopped to buy bread in the market and then returned home with full arms.

Geirr grunted some sort of thank you to Athelstan for walking with Gyda.

Having sold most of the fish caught by Bjorn already, and eaten the rest, Gyda was sent out to the river to collect fish and eels. It was midday. Her mother had business in town and Geirr and Bjorn were out on the boat fishing just as she was going to. Athelstan joined her.

She liked his company quite a lot. The initial thoughts of him being a slave had been deteriorated very quickly after his arrival. It had been many years ago…six…no, seven years and many months since then. She was a grown woman now, and he was nothing like the monk who had been brought back a slave by Ragnar. He was more of a part of the family than anything; he was a hard worker that would make the Lothbrok household unstable if he ever left or was killed.

Gyda had her nets and poles and had tied up her skirts just enough to wade into the water. Athelstan sat on the riverbank, watching. He was always watching quietly. She was thankful that he was here,  _especially_  here. She had gotten a chill as she walked past a very familiar part of the path on the way here. She would not quickly forget the attack. She had her dagger at her side, which was also a comfort.

Both of them were quiet for some time. She liked being quiet so she could focus and concentrate on catching fish and the very slippery eels. Once she had worked up a sweat, she swiped her hand across her brow and looked over at Athelstan. He was leaning against a tree, drawing symbols in the sand with a small stick.

"Do you find me very pretty, Athelstan?"

Her question caught him off guard. He lifted his eyes to see her standing there in the river, the sun shining through the trees and hitting her hair, creating a majestic glow around her face. Her eyes sparkled and she had a teasing smile formed upon her lips.

"I doubt your God would strike you down for answering," she added, using a tone very similar to Ragnar's—half disbelief, half curiosity—when speaking about his religion.

"Uh…yes," he stammered over an answer. "You  _are_  pretty." He wasn't lying. She was…she was beautiful in spite and because of her scars, because of the beauty that lay within her. He didn't know why she asked or what brought on the question. She seemed pleased by his answer, a smile shining on her face.

Without saying anything else, she turned back to catching fish.

Later in the day, when Athelstan was feeding the pigs and tending to the chickens, Gyda joined him. There was no need for her to, but she watched him work quietly.

"Is there something you want?" he asked, politely, looking up from the snorting pigs.

She pursed her lips and shook her head. The bruises on her throat were almost completely faded "Do you still have that book? The one—"

"My Bible?" There was no word in their language for it, so Athelstan used the one from his. It didn't matter; the word was always associated with his dark bound book. "Yes, I still have it."

"Hmm." She didn't say anything for over a minute and he didn't say anything either. "Do you still feel like a priest?"

He was surprisingly unsurprised at her question. He felt as if it was a long time coming. His answer, he could feel it in his heart, but it was difficult to say in words. It was made even more challenging in this language even though he was just as fluent in it now, after all of these years, as his native tongue. "I…don't feel like a priest any more." There was no word in their language for monk and he had grown accustomed to being called priest. "But I haven't lost my faith."

He had seen things, witnessed things connected to these Norse gods, things that made him realize that there truly was more to life than what meets the eye. There was faith of all kinds and he tried his hardest to keep his beliefs knit close in his chest while not disrespecting the faith of those around him. He had long since learned the balance.

"That's good," she said, as if it was something she had to affirm.

"Is it?" He stepped out of the pigpen and stopped in front of her. "Why is that good?" he asked curiously.

She frowned, small lines creasing her forehead. He found himself wanting to smooth them with his fingers, a thought that was more shocking than the conversation. "Because you are…Athelstan. You wouldn't be yourself if you didn't still have your faith," she explained as simply as she could.

The tone of her voice told him that this was dire, but perhaps he was reading into it too much. No…something wasn't quite right. He frowned. "Is there any reason you're saying all of this?" His first thought was that Geirr had decided that having Athelstan was too much trouble than it was worth and he was going to be killed or sold off. No—definitely killed; he knew too much about Ragnar and Lagertha and everything that had happened here since he had been brought back.

Gyda noticed the concern on his face and in his voice. "Oh," she said, realizing her mistake. She reached out a hand and lightly touched his arm through his shirt. "You don't have to worry. Nothing bad is happening. I was just thinking and I was curious."

It was almost as if she had read his mind. "So the  _Jarl_  isn't going to kill me?" he asked before he could stop himself.

She looked horrified at the words. "Why would he do such a thing? No." She shook her head sharply, curling her fingers around his bicep. "I…Lagertha and I wouldn't let him." She gave him a small tight smile before retreating back inside.

Athelstan stood there for some time, an odd taste at the back of his mouth and an annoying thought he couldn't quite make out teasing the back of his mind.

That evening, while Athelstan was put to work outside, Lagertha had a discussion with Gyda over the dinner table. Geirr sat at the head of it, eating noisily. Bjorn was not staying with them tonight.

"We have been discussing a husband for you, Gyda," Lagertha said, getting right to the point.

Gyda almost dropped her spoon. Years ago, before her father ran off to follow fantasies and before her mother's new husband had carved a scar down her cheek, Gyda had dreamed of being just like her mother. Strong, powerful, a shieldmaiden and a mother and a wife, someone with children to protect, to be someone who could protect them if they needed. But she had always wanted to marry for love, like Lagertha and Ragnar, and an arrangement sounded terrible, awful, and horrid.

But she couldn't say any of that, could she?

"I know I am of marrying age," she said instead. It was true. She was already and was past the time of proper marriage age. Her mother had been very protective of her and wouldn't let her go easily.

"We are thinking of the son of Halfden the Black," Lagertha continued. Perhaps the name was supposed to mean something to Gyda, but she had never heard of him. "His son Harald has been growing a powerful kingdom."

Of course. Was she to be married off to create an alliance? Wasn't that always the way for the children of  _Jarls_  and kings? Couldn't she be like her mother and marry a simple fisherman and deal with  _Jarls_  and titles later?

"I don't know if I want to," Gyda said softly. Geirr almost choked on his beer and Lagertha glanced over at him.

"We were just discussing it. We can all talk about it together." Her voice was even and soothing.

Gyda looked up and nodded, trying her best to keep a calm expression on her face.

"You are my only daughter, Gyda," Lagertha continued, reaching across the table to take her hand. "I want you to live the best life."

Gyda smiled almost sadly. "Thank you, Mother." She had a feeling that her mother wanted her to get her life started as soon as possible. To marry and have children before something drastic happened in her life once again. She had been one of few to survive a plague that came through the village while Ragnar was off falling in love with a new woman. Athelstan had also barely made it through the sickness. Gyda was very lucky to be alive on many accounts. She had the scars on her body and soul to prove it.

Later that night, Gyda stayed awake under her furs as the  _Jarl_  huffed and groaned around on top of Lagertha and her thoughts were enough to blot out even that noise.

She still wanted to get married, that much hadn't changed. But she didn't want to get married to someone named Harald who was the king of somewhere far away. She didn't want to leave home.

Or maybe it was just that she didn't want to leave the people who were here. The people she had grown accustomed to being around. How different would life be if she were forced to marry someone from a foreign land?

Not that everyone from a foreign land was bad. Athelstan was just about as foreign as one could get from Gyda and her world, but he fit so perfectly within it. That was the difference. He fit into her world; she didn't fit into his. She didn't like the thought of having to fit into someone else's culture, someone else's world. Just how foreign was this Halfden the Black and his son, Harald?

Unable to sleep, she rolled herself out of bed and tiptoed outside. It was midspring, so the air was crisp and chilly at night and the sky was clear. She could see the stars. She hugged her arms around herself and before she knew it, she was standing on the edge of the water in the damp sand. Her hair was brushed out, long and to her waist, her nightshirt thin and white.

"Gyda?" Athelstan's voice broke through the silence of the night. She twisted her torso to see him walking closer. He often slept outside in the warmer seasons, but he also had his own room that had been added onto the house when Lagertha married Geirr. It was because of Gyda's age and Athelstan being a man, so they quartered off a space no bigger than a single mattress for him to call his own. At least it had a roof and walls for when it rained and snowed.

"I couldn't sleep," she replied simply. There was no moon in the sky. At the moment, she couldn't remember if that was a good or bad sign.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, moving to stand next to her.

She bit down on her cheek until she tasted blood. "There may be," she said finally, squeezing her hands into fists and tucking them under her arms.

"What is it?" He wasn't looking at the stars. He was looking at her.

"Mother wants me to get married," she said slowly, letting a breath out of her nose. "Soon."

"Oh." He let out a breath of his own, brow creasing. She didn't sound thrilled. She sounded the opposite of happy about the situation. "Did she say—?"

"He is the son of…someone and he has a growing kingdom," she answered before he had finished his question. The answer was brimming on her tongue before he even started his question. "That is all she told me."

Her head fell then, her eyes focusing on the far horizon that she knew was there, settled between two mountain peaks. Usually the moon would be shining against the water, shedding light on the world, but tonight, the sky was dark.

Athelstan licked his lips and bit down on his bottom one. He didn't know what to say. She was upset, that was clear enough, but what could he do? "Don't you want to get married? To have a family?" he settled upon asking.

"Yes," she said strongly. That was the one thing she was sure about. "But I would have to leave my home. I would have to leave…" she trailed off. She could have continued speaking, but she wondered if it would make him uncomfortable. The weight on her mind was focusing on what she would do without Athelstan. What would life be like without his constant presence? Without his familiar accent, without the way he could speak in such a way that was unlike any of the men here in her native land? What would she do without his honesty and friendship and…presence?

"I think it could be good for you to get away," he said thoughtfully, eyes trailing over the darkness laid out before them. The water was barely moving tonight. "Many bad things have happened here, to you, Gyda."

She frowned, the corners of her lips turning down. "Yes. But…facing your past is being strong. I need to be strong. Stronger than I am because I am  _not_  strong."

"What?" Athelstan shook his head and turned his entire body to face her. "That's not true. Gyda, you're very strong. You don't have to fight and kill to be a strong person. You have lived through much in your life and you are still alive, still fighting to keep living. That is strong."

He didn't know where the words came from, but they were pulled out of him faster than he could pull them back. They were nice, kind words and he didn't think there was any reason why he shouldn't have said them.

A chill ran over Gyda's skin that had nothing to do with the chilled air. "You did not have to say that," she said softly, bowing her head to see the outline of her toes in the sand.

"It's the truth."

She sucked in a breath through her nose and nodded, looking over at him. She was surprised by how intently he was looking at her, worry filling his eyes. "Thank you," she said before another chill shook her body. She dug her nails into her palms and then regretted it. The wound on her right hand was still tender.

"You should get back inside," he said. Without thinking, he put his arm around her shoulders. He was warm, much warmer than she was. She melted into his side and let him guide her back to the house.

She wanted to protest when he retracted his arm, but she caught herself before she did. "Thank you, again," she added, looking up at him.

"Never forget what I said," he told her. "I don't tell lies." Athelstan gave her a small smile before turning and walking off to his designated sleeping area.

Gyda watched him and found herself wishing she could follow him. The thought in itself made her eyes grow wide and she quickly slipped into the house, pushing the door shut behind her and clicking down the latch.

Her breath caught in the dark as she pressed her back to the door. Where had that thought come from? And why was it bothering her so much? The answer to the second question was easier. He was a slave, a servant, someone  _beneath_  her. Then why did she feel that he was worth so much of her time, so much of her thoughts and feelings? There was nothing past her thoughts except wanting to sleep with the warmness of him beside her, to feel his arm around her as she slept. Still, the thought was close to terrifying.

The cottage was quiet now. She hid herself under her furs and wrapped her own arms around herself, squeezing her eyes shut and imagining herself asleep. She forced all other thoughts out of her head and just when she thought she would never be able to sleep again, she slipped into slumber.

Days passed. Lagertha further discussed the possible marriage with Gyda. Harald was a king in Norway. It wasn't terribly far from her home, but still not close enough. Gyda wondered how odd it would look if she asked a king if she could bring her western slave with her to his castle.

Gyda gave no definite answers as to whether or not she agreed with the marriage. If she didn't, or even if she did, the  _Jarl_  was more than likely going to set up the arrangement anyway and Gyda would not be able to step away from it unless she died. And she didn't feel like dying; she had come too close to that so many times.

It was beginning the season of rain. It would rain for days on end, for weeks with small breaks in between. These were the months of many feasts and gatherings. Most people stayed inside and took the time for leisure.

Athelstan did no such thing. Geirr had him working. Today it was chickens. It hadn't rained yet, but the sky was heavy with clouds. He was working at a steady pace until Gyda arrived, a basket in hand. She had come from the market with Lagertha and walked back early on her own. Bjorn had gone on an excursion and wouldn't be back for weeks. The homestead was empty.

"What are you doing back?" he asked, continuing with his work.

She ignored his question, getting right to the point. "Do you like me?"

"Of course, I do." He answered without thinking, without realizing the tone of voice, without seeing the frown in her brow. If he had, then perhaps he would have been prepared for the next string of words to leave her lips.

"Do you love me?"

He stopped right in the middle of what he was doing, frozen in place as her words washed over him. He knew what she was asking,  _truly_  asking. It had been a long time since he had felt like a priest, but he still held onto his Christianity like a lifeline. That thought, that he was far from a priest now, gave him more worry than he thought he should. It was situations like this that tested just what he felt was right, what he felt he was able to do.

He straightened his back and turned to face her. It was late afternoon, the sky was full of clouds and it would probably rain soon; he could smell it on the breeze. She watched him with steady eyes, waiting for his reply. She didn't seem angry that he had let so many seconds pass between her asking and him answering.

They say that the first thought that comes to your head in any situation is more than likely the best thing to say or the best approach to take or the best answer to a question. First instinct was usually the purest instinct, uninhibited by over thinking.

"I do," he said in a rush of breath. "Very much so."

He spoke in that rushed sort of way that happened when he was honest and didn't take the time to comb through his words before speaking. It made her smile ever so slightly and walk over to where he was standing, watching her as if he had just done something bad and was prepared to be penalized for it.

She really had no idea what was going through his mind, she just knew he was entirely different from all of the men she had grown up around, all of the boys her age, probably even the one her mother was trying to get her to marry.

He was unsure what she was going to say or do. She had asked a question and he had answered; it wasn't necessary of her to reply back on her own question. No, instead she lifted her hand and placed her fingers beneath his chin. She leaned close and kissed him, lips soft and gone before they could be fully appreciated. She smiled at him again, more with her eyes than her mouth before she stepped around him and walked to her home, stepping into the doorway just as the sky opened and rain came pouring down.

Athelstan didn't rush. He grabbed the basket of chicken eggs and placed them under the small roof overhanging the front door of the cottage before sliding into his own space. He was completely drenched from the downpour. His hair was plastered to his neck and left a cold trail between his shoulders when he laid back. There wasn't much else he could do in such a small space.

He'd never thought much about living any sort of normal life or having normal things. Normal for him was monkhood. Here, normal was just making sure he wasn't killed. Staying quiet, doing as he was told, watching after Gyda. Because that's what it came down to after it all, wasn't it? Gyda…

She was beautiful; it wasn't that he never noticed, he just wasn't accustomed to noticing and processing what that actually meant. He loved many things about her. He loved how she never let her scars stop her from anything. He loved how she found joy in the smallest of things, how she could always find something to smile about. He loved how she treated him like a person. He hated the thought of her moving away from him, of being away where he couldn't see her every day and hear her voice and laughter.

The core human part of him told him that was what love was, and that was why he answered the way he did when she had asked him that question. He would do nothing against hearing her marry someone in Norway. It wasn't his place; he was just the priest slave, brought over by Ragnar after a successful raid in the west.

But if he could have her for as long as she was close, as long as she was here, unmarried and untaken, maybe it would be enough. He had taken an oath, but he doubted it counted here, not after everything that happened. Here he felt more of a Christian man than a Christian monk. And since when did Christian men follow the rules?

Because of the rain, he was sure everyone would be inside, waiting for it to pass. Lagertha would be away for as long as it lasted; she disliked the rain quite a lot.

His chest filled with a feeling of recklessness…it wasn't the right word but it was the closest he could think of. Without much more of a thought, he bolted out of his small room and around the corner of the cottage to the front door. The basket of eggs sat there, safe from the rain.

He grabbed them and walked inside. The door fell heavily closed, but he couldn't see Gyda from where he was standing. There were very few candles lit, making the cottage very dark.

"Gyda," he said softly, walking forward, placing the eggs on the table.

"I'm sorry for doing that." Her voice came out of nowhere. "For asking you something like that."

He looked around for her and only saw her when she stepped out from behind one of the half-walls within the house. She had missed the rain. Her dress was crisply dry, her hair back in a messy braid, worry written across her face.

"I answered truthfully." He thought she had no need to apologize. "I wanted to talk to you.  _Want_  to talk to you," he said instead.

"What do you want to talk about?" Her voice sounded so small. Thunder roared outside and a flash of lighting lit up the inside of the house. He caught a glimpse of her face, small and concerned.

"I have…I am relying on simple human intuition saying these things because I don't have any experience with…" His usual form of eloquence seemed to have been eaten up by the storm roaring outside.

Gyda stepped forward, close enough to touch. The candles lit on the table shone on her face. "You don't have to say anything," she said, annoyed with herself for even bringing it up. This would end badly for both of them.

"I should. I should say some things. I just don't know what." Athelstan pressed his lips together, brain going on and on about what he should be doing and shouldn't be doing, mixed with overall nervousness, not to mention he was soaked through his clothes and getting chilled. "I was trying to figure out why I…what it means to love someone. I know what it feels like to have faith and love my God, but this is different."

"As it should be," she said softly, putting a hand gently on his upper arm. "I know that I don't want to move away from you. I'm scared to go to someplace new and not have you with me. If that is why I feel this way, feel that I…I couldn't live without you near me, if that is because I love you, then I love you."

They weren't easy words to say. Not for her, not for anyone, but especially not Gyda and especially not directed toward Athelstan. He was beneath her, he was not meant to feel this way, but he was not alone. Both of them were lost in their feelings, sucked into currents that were taking them away without any decision from them.

"I don't want you to move away from me," he said, revealing the same things he had been thinking not long ago. Lifting his hand, he hesitantly cupped her cheek and brushed his thumb over her scar.

She hadn't had let many people touch her in this way, much less have such a tender caress over her scar. She tried not to let it bother her, to say she lived through something that could have been so much worse, but she didn't feel beautiful when she realized she had a jagged reminder down her face of how it was to get on the  _Jarl_ 's angry side. But all of that melted away with Athelstan's light touch. Her breath hitched in her chest and she smiled at him sweetly. He smiled back, with layers of sadness behind it.

"You're very wet," she said offhandedly, eyes skimming his soaked clothes.

He actually laughed at her comment, which was very off putting from the heaviness of their conversation. "It's raining," he said simply, beginning to take his hand away from her face.

"I don't care," she said, more to herself than to him, taking his wrist and tugging it over her shoulder before slipping her arms around him and pressing herself to his chest, tucking her head under his chin.

This time she was much warmer than he was. It felt so nice, to hold her close, his arms immediately tightened around her, pulling her as close as he could without molding them into one single person.

They stayed that way for a long time, her cheek pressed against his cool flesh, his arm around her back, his other hand stroking her hair while her fingers pressed their marks into his skin through his shirt. They said nothing.

"You should kiss me now," she said softly, shifting away from him enough to meet his eyes.

He wanted to, so badly. His heart seemed to pound in his stomach, his hand fell to cup her face and she dragged her fingers across his chest to his shoulders.

"I've…I'm not," he tried saying, but she shook her head, stopping him. She didn't have to say anything for him to know she was saying it didn't matter. It was all instinct wasn't it?

He dipped his head and she rose on her toes. Their lips met and it was different from the brevity of the kiss outside. That had been hardly a whisper of Gyda's lips against his. This was different. She threaded her fingers through his hair and pressed herself as close to him as she could. His hand tangled into her hair, the other arm crossing her entire body, his fingers curling around her hip.

She tasted sweet, like he was drinking from the sun. He tasted differently than she'd thought. She was reminded of forests and the sea. She wanted to keep kissing him forever. He would be happy to drown in her. But both of them needed to come up for air.

Gyda sucked her bottom lip into her mouth between her teeth and waited, eyes wide and naïve. He looked different in this light, this close…he looked exactly how the person she wanted to be with should look. Because she  _did_ want to be with him, she wanted to stay in his arms forever. She could envision family and children, which was going to hurt her when she realized that was something they could never have together, but at the moment, it was wonderful to imagine.

"I want to do that again," he said after a few heartbeats.

She laughed lightly, the sound filling his ears like the sweetest sound. "Yes," she said, moving her hands to his face, palms pressing against his bearded jaw, "I think we should."

She kissed him first then, with a little more force, a little more fire. He responded just the same and she wondered how they would ever stop. But they did, as thunder rolled away and the rain ceased.

"Lagertha will be back soon," Gyda said sadly.

He nodded, brushing hair behind her ear with tender fingers. "I should return to my little corner," he said, but even before the last word was out of his mouth he was pressing his lips to hers again in a lingering kiss.

She pushed him away gently with a shake of her head. "You don't know what she will do if she finds us."

"I can imagine some things she might do," he replied with a brief smile, resting his forehead against hers.

She took in a breath, unwilling to let him go, but knowing it was going to be for the best. She already missed the feeling of his arms around her as she stepped back. She felt cold all over at every part of her that had met a part of him.

When Lagertha arrived, Gyda was sitting on her bed, working on sewing a new dress. She looked as if she were concentrating. Little did her mother know that she was indeed focusing, but not on her stitches. Rather, she was focusing on the ghostly hands that she felt, whispers from Athelstan's touch.

Or perhaps Lagertha noticed; she just chose not to say anything.

Whatever Athelstan and Gyda's feelings for each other, they kept them hidden. There was really no way for it to be socially acceptable. That made every moment they had even sweeter. Gyda went out of her way to make sure she was going anywhere on her own, so Athelstan would  _have_  to join her.

Vikings were rash and violent; it was their culture, their nature. But Gyda was not like that. Athelston often wondered where she gained her calm demeanor from, her kindness and softness. Lagethera could be kind, but the sort of kind like a mother lion could be kind. Gyda was majestic, all golden smiles and light laughter. She took what life gave her, what the gods gave her, and made the best of it.

He caught himself watching her when he should have been doing other things. The way she ran after the children from the village when they came with their mothers who wished to speak to Lagertha. The way Gyda would laugh and smile, chasing them around until they screamed and laughed and her hair would fly around her face and she would catch him watching her, slack jawed, an ax hanging off his fingertips or his hand in a bucket of feed.

Athelstan was the farthest from a Viking than anyone could imagine. He had adopted some of their harshness, turning a blind eye when there was an execution. To be so emotional over every death would be tiring, too tiring, and yet he was still Athelstan. Quietly standing at the outskirts of life, labeled a slave but treated better, much better, than that.

She liked when they would walk off somewhere secluded, the woods more so then the market, and he would silently slip her fingers through hers when they were far enough from prying eyes. They would say little, as was usual for both of them, and she would begin working. She collected roots and berries and mushrooms or caught fish and eels. He might also have duties to attend to, or he might help her with her own, but they never got more than halfway through before he pulled her away for soft kisses and gentle touches. She would lie across his legs and examine his hands like she had never seen them before, running her fingers over his rough skin, tanned and larger than her own.

"Do you think I would like your country?" she asked once because she was curious. She never put much thought into the actual place where Athelstan came from. Her father had told stories of the place he had found the priest, and then all of the other places he visited afterward. It sounded different from here.

Athelstan furrowed his eyebrows. "I don't know. I didn't see much of it outside of the monastery."

She closed her eyes and pressed his hand against her chest, his fingers sweeping across her collarbone. "I think I might like it," she said softly. "But I will never see it."

"I don't think I will ever see it again," he said thoughtfully. Years before he had thoughts of being let free and traveling back to his home. But where would he go? He couldn't return to be a monk, there was too much that had changed within him to do that.

"Are you sad?" She opened her eyes against the sun and let them rest on his face.

"No. Not about that. I am…sad about you leaving."

About  _when_ , not if. They both knew that she was going to be married to the soon-to-be king of-all-of Norway. Gyda was past the normal marrying age as she crept closer to nineteen. Her nameday was just weeks away. She couldn't hold off much longer. A meeting was already underway with Harald. Gyda hadn't told Athelstan yet, but he would soon find out.

She gave him a sad smile, one they were both used to, and lifted her hand to his face. He was older than she was by many years but he didn't look all that different from when he had first arrived. She had been the one to drastically change, to grow from child and woman, while his eyes grew a little darker and his hair longer and that was it.

There was the beginning of a dull ache in the pit of her stomach that she tried to ignore as she sat up and placed a kiss on his lips, short and sweet before rising to he feet. She would not fall victim to sadness and darkness until she was far away from here, where he couldn't see.

She teased him about them getting caught, even though it was rare for anyone to roam these parts of the woods. If anyone did, it would be Floki, and he was always away with Ragnar, so that wasn't plausible to happen.

Once their basket was filled, Athelstan carried it back, as always. Gyda snuck one or two more kisses before they reached the path back to the water. Everything appeared normal until they got farther along and began to hear shouts about boats on the horizon. Fear was far from Gyda's mind, but she still rushed ahead, meeting Lagertha as she left the cottage.

"What boat? Has anyone said?" Gyda asked, grabbing her mother's arm.

"Not yet," Lagertha answered. The two women left and Athelstan followed after he had properly put away everything that had been gathered.

The main port was filled. Someone had caught sight of the bow of the ship and exclaimed it to be Ragnar's. Gyda's eyes instantly went to her mother and she slipped her hand around Lagertha's, squeezing. The  _Jarl_  loomed behind them and Bjorn joined the small family as the boats came close enough to hear called greetings. Gyda felt her heart in her throat as the boat slipped forward. She spotted her father; he had barely changed. She hadn't seen him in years and she had a biting feeling toward him for having sons with another woman.

Ragnar left the boat first, Floki behind him, helping Aslaug off of the ship. She had a child in her arms and two at her feet. All boys. Gyda wasn't certain how to act. She had strong feelings toward her father, but that didn't mean she could turn that hatred toward the boys. They were young, they were children, and there was no need for them to be at her cold shoulder. They looked shy and blonde and blue eyed, much like she was.

Everything passed both slowly and quickly. One second they were all on the docks, welcoming back old friends, and then they were all in the Longhouse, and a feast was being laid out on the tables. Lagertha was as civil and welcoming as she could under the circumstances. Gyda saw her and Ragnar talking in a corner and wondered what they were saying. She couldn't hear a thing, the din loud as Erik and Floki urged Bjorn on with stories exchanged by both parties. Gyda found herself being pulled to the side by the soft hand of Aslaug.

The woman was pretty, but not as beautiful as her mother. However Gyda felt little ill will toward her. Strange how that happened.

"I only wanted to properly greet you, Gyda," she said, her voice soft. Her children were hiding in her skirts and Gyda found herself suddenly posing as the seat for the toddler, who crawled onto her lap and seemed perfect pleased to be bounced on her knee. "I hope you do not think so low of me."

Gyda knew how Bjorn felt toward both Ragnar and Aslaug for their union. He too hated his father more than the woman, but his feelings were stronger and he didn't keep quiet about them.

"I try not to," Gyda replied as honestly as she could. She wasn't trying not to, but she was already feeling attached to the children that looked so like her and Bjorn when they were small.

"Are you not married?" Aslaug ventured to ask. "I only say because you are beautiful and appear of age."

"I will be," she said simply, not looking at Aslaug but turning her attention to the boy in her arms. "Soon. I wonder if Father sensed it and came back."

It wasn't long before Gyda knew each of the boys' names—Ivar, Halfdan and Ragnvold—and sat along with her mother and stepfather at the head of the table. Ragnar and Aslaug sat near to them and Bjorn was next to Gyda. It was all she could do to ignore the intense glares that her brother was sending across the table. Everyone was rowdy and filled with beer and spring harvest.

Half of the evening was gone by the time Ragnar spotted Athelstan and nearly knocked the priest over with a drunken embrace. "Athelstan, my friend," he exclaimed loudly, clapping his hands on Athelstan's shoulders and shaking him. "Where have you been hiding? Come drink with us."

Ragnar acted as he always had, even before he was  _Jarl_  for a short time. Perhaps he would come to fight for his place now, but no one assumed he would try to win his place back tonight. He pushed Athelstan down on the bench. Aslaug had taken the children off to bed, a room saved for guests in the Longhouse. It was a place Geirr often spent his nights, when he was too drunk to get back to the cottage that Lagertha refused to give up.

Gyda met Athelstan's eyes across the table as a horn mug was shoved into his hand and Floki decided to begin spinning tales of fights and battles. As nice as it was to have the table filled and a new kind of warmth flowing through the village, Gyda couldn't help but feel that cold spot pressed against her spine, reminding her of just how little time she had left to be here around the people she had grown so accustomed to.

She and Lagertha retired before the men, who continued to drink and boast. To Gyda's surprise, Lagertha led them to the room where Aslaug was crowded around with her boys.

"Mother," Gyda whispered, immediately sensing bad will in her mother's mind.

"Shhh, you will wake the children," Lagertha cautioned.

Aslaug's eyes opened and she looked afraid for a moment before it passed. Lagertha was showing her goodwill and Aslaug her trust as the  _Jarl_ 's wife laid down under a blanket opposite Ragnar's new love. Gyda lay next to her mother like she was a child and they fell asleep with heavy hearts.

Gyda woke to find Aslaug doing her best to keep her boys quiet as they woke up. Pushing herself to sit up, Gyda said "Good morning" and helped get the boys ready for breakfast. Ivar was the oldest, nearing six, Halfden was four and Ragnvold was just two. They were a perfect catalogue of the years Ragnar was gone.

The Longhouse was filled with sleeping and hung over men. Soon Geirr asked for a meeting at his private table with Ragnar and Lagertha. Gyda hovered anxiously outside the Longhouse, watching her half-brothers playing in the dirt.

The minutes stretched on like hours and by the time Athelstan came outside to get her, Gyda felt like a bundle of nerves. She knew exactly what was going on inside, what had been discussed by her mother and father and stepfather. She wasn't prepared to face it. In the darkness, as they walked around the room, Athelstan laid his hand against the small of her back and it gave her enough strength to enter the private chamber and see whether or not her father was behind the idea of her going off to marry someone they had never met.

Ragnar had little say in the decision since he had left his family, but it was considerate of Geirr to do so.

No, he seemed pleased, kissing her forehead and hugging her. He told her it was time and she would make a fine wife. It was as much as she could ask for from her father.

He stayed for a week and Lagertha got more and more agitated. Everything boiled over when he asked if Aslaug could stay in Kattegat. They had fought like they used to, with fists and biting words, but it ended differently. Lagertha alone and Ragnar leaving, using his time to prep the boat.

Aslaug wasn't going to be staying. She and her boys would have to leave. Gyda wasn't sure if she would ever see them again and she was already so attached to the little ones that it made her even more upset than she already was with everything piling up around her ears. Seeing her father again, hearing the fights and the aftermath and her own marriage looming over her head was enough to suck the spark right out of her.

Everyone said goodbye at the docks. Some of the men stayed—Floki missed his treehouse and his woods and his women and a handful of others decided against joining Ragnar on another of his journeys—but most left. Gyda hugged her father for what felt like the last time and tried to remember a time when he had been her favorite person in the world. So much had changed since then.

Ragnar even hugged and kissed Lagertha under the watchful eye of Geirr and pulled Bjorn into a rough embrace that the young man barely returned. Ragnar might have fallen out of favor of his family, but the others in town were disappointed to see him leave once again.

And he did, pushing off in Floki's faithful workmanship, the land lay out before him, the sea and the adventures.

Once he was gone from sight, the townspeople disbursed and Lagertha immediately returned to the Longhouse. The fight with Ragnar, inside those walls, was still too fresh for her to face. The village was in an odd mixture of celebration and normalcy. The men who had stayed back from Ragnar's fleet were going to plan a large party involving women and drinks and smoking. Bjorn was invited personally by the host, who was, of course, Floki.

That left the cottage empty. Gyda spent the day with her mother, cleaning up and talking little about Ragnar. In fact, they didn't talk about her father at all.

"He will be coming soon, your future husband," Lagertha said as she moved benches and swept.

Gyda stumbled over an upturned chair. "Is he?" she replied, leaning down to set the chair right. It was heavy and wooden. She had assumed she would be going off in a boat never to be seen again; the last thing she imagined was for the Norwegian to come here.

"Yes," Lagertha said, watching her daughter carefully while she worked. "I am surprised that Ragnar did not stay longer to meet him."

Gyda tried to keep her hands steady as she took her own broom into hand and swept half the room. "He will be here soon." She meant it as a question, but it came out as a statement.

"Yes," her mother repeated. "In just a few days time."

Gyda swallowed hard and nodded, keeping her eyes teamed toward the floor. "What is going to happen?" she asked after a long pause.

"You will have a marriage ceremony here. And another in front of his people if he sees fit," Lagertha explained.

It was all becoming much more real to her. Much  _too_  real. In just days she would be married and sailing off to a land that wasn't here. She had never left this small part of the world. The farthest she'd gone was a trip with Bjorn and Rollo and Geirr two years ago. They went up the coast to hunt and that was the last time she had seen her uncle.

The thought of leaving so soon made that cold spot on her stomach grow immensely. She fell quiet, going about her work mechanically. By the time they had finished, it was dark and she smelled of sweat and beer and meat.

Lagertha seemed to know that something was the matter and played the part of mother just the way Gyda needed. She filled a tub with water, some of it warmed over the fire, some not, and Gyda bathed herself, scrubbing her skin clean while Lagertha washed her hair with soap.

"You have grown so much," Lagertha said as she ran a comb through Gyda's wet tresses once she was dried off and sitting in a clean dress. "It is hard for me to believe you are to be married soon."

It was hard for Gyda to imagine as well. She wished that the wedding she would have could match the one she always envisioned in her head. The only saving grace about it was that she would be married here, with her mother and stepfather and brother around. It would also make it harder because Athelstan would be there.

Like she had thought before, this was going to end painfully for both of them.

Once her hair was plaited and fell heavy against her back, she stood and faced her mother. There was an unspoken understanding between mother and daughter, one that might have been going on for longer than Gyda ever realized it. But she did understand it now as Lagertha pushed stray hairs back and ran her hand over the scar along her cheek, the one that Geirr had left and which had almost cost him his life. Lagertha had come so close to killing him but didn't and he hadn't laid a finger on Gyda in all the years since.

"You are not my little girl any more," she said sadly, squeezing Gyda's shoulders. She had said that once before, but this time held much more meaning for Gyda than she realized.

"I always will be, Mother," she replied, pulling Lagertha close for a hug. "Please get some rest tonight," she added, stepping back and looking her mother in the eye.

"And who is the mother here? Telling me what to do," Lagertha shook her head, but a kind smile was on her face.

Gyda shook her head in return and left. It was nearing the last weeks of summer. She would be celebrating her nineteenth nameday in a new land with a new husband and she wasn't sure how she felt about it besides not wanting it. She had assumed she would stay in Kattegat when she married; to have children here and show them the trees that she knew so well and where to find the best fish and eels and how to track and catch. But she wouldn't have that now.

Athelstan had been waiting, to see if she would stay in the Longhouse for the night or not. He could have joined in Floki's party, but decided against it. He would join them if Gyda did not step outside soon. But then he saw her, ducking out the door and pulling it shut behind her. He began to walk in her direction and she saw him first. They met somewhere in the middle.

"Athelstan," she said his name softly.

"Are you going home? I'll walk with you," he said, not missing the sadness that had wrapped itself around her like a blanket.

She nodded, crossing her arms. "Thank you."

They fell into step beside each other. No one thought twice about it. Athelstan had grown to be a part of the community. Many had just about forgotten he was actually a slave and that he wasn't just another facet of Kattegat.

"Ragnar spoke with me, while he was here," Athelstan said once they were halfway back to the small house by the water.

"He spoke to many people," Gyda replied, on edge like always when it came to anything to do with her father.

"I don't know if it holds, because of Lagertha and Geirr but…he released me."

Gyda stopped walking. He took a few more steps before he realized and turned around.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

He walked closer. "He said I was no longer a slave. I did not need the title attached to my name any longer."

She sucked in a breath. "He said that?"

Athelstan nodded. "I don't know if it matters."

She nodded repeatedly. "It does," she said, grabbing his hand. "Come with me." They were already heading where she wanted to go, but she said it anyway. Her pace was quick, nearly a jog. The moon shone above them, shimmering against the water as they got closer.

"Wait, Gyda," he said as they reached the door. She flipped the latch and pulled him inside. It was dark except for the moonlight that streamed through two of the windows.

Anxiety bunched up in her belly from a whole number of things. She stopped and faced him in the middle of the small home.

"Love me," she said, and he knew what she meant, like he always did. "I'm leaving, I might not come back." The words fell heavy from her tongue.

He understood what she meant and he thought he had prepared himself for this. For her leaving. But he wasn't. He wasn't entirely sure he was ready for this either.

"Won't your gods be angry?" he asked.

She didn't think they would. Not if they could peer into her soul. "I will be angry if you don't," she replied with earnest. "If we don't…" She shook her head and kissed him softly, pushing herself up on her toes and putting her hands on his shoulders.

She would have done this even if he hadn't said he was no longer a slave, that the title had no meaning any longer. "I love you," she said, her breath mingling with his.

"Gyda," he breathed out. He hadn't realized just how much he  _wanted_  her until now. It was an entirely different feeling, one he assumed he would never have to venture into. But it was here, now, staring him in the face. At this moment, he didn't feel very much like a Christian man, but he also found that he didn't want to deny her, or himself, this. She said it herself…she was leaving soon. Both of them had known it would happen, but she must know it to be soon.

She pushed him down onto the table bench. He didn't have to say he had no experience; it was evident, it always had been, and that was perhaps the reason why she did love him so much. He was just so unlike all of the men around. She, however, had some. Not just words spoken by her mother, but at fifteen there had been a boy and she had sex with him. She knew how it worked, how it was supposed to work, but she was running the rest on instinct. She did what felt right.

He watched with held breath as she untied the top of her dress, the soft red material falling from her shoulders and pooling at her feet. She took in her first breath without the snugly fit dress and shrugged one shoulder out of her underdress and then the other, catching the material under her arms before letting it fall, leaving her naked.

Every inch of her was perfect. She had more scars than most. A scattering of white marks on her left side thanks to a tumble down a steep hill when she was nine, a thick jagged scar around her right shin and calf from getting caught on a loose board on the pigpen door three years earlier. Not everything about her was scars. She had small hips and breasts, her hair pulled back showed the fall of her shoulders.

His breath left him in a rush as she stepped forward, the light catching on her skin. She reached for his hand and lifted it slowly, pressing his rough skin against the softness of her breast. He had never felt skin so soft and found himself rising to his feet. Her nipples stiffened and her breath caught in her throat as his thumb brushed across one.

"You are beautiful," he said, slipping his arm around her, his fingers pressing against the bumps down her back.

She smiled softly up at him and threaded her fingers through his hair, kissing him and pressing herself as close as she could. He sucked in a breath through his nose and splayed his fingers over her lower back.

They stopped for breath and she moved her hands down his chest. "You need fewer clothes," she said, breath hot against his as she unfolded his belt and pulled it off with steady hands. Hands that she slipped under his shirt, her hands cool against his skin. He moved his own hands to pull the shirt over his head. His skin was tanned and his hair was dark in great contrast of her pale complexion and golden curls.

The coolness of the air between them was unwanted by both and they met with hot mouths, passion bubbling up inside of both of them. Her breasts pressed against his flesh, their heartbeats rising in strength and speed as their mouths worked together and Althelstan's hands explored her curves, the curve of her back to dips at the base of her spine.

She wanted his hands all over her, always. She didn't care if he wasn't sure where to touch her, her skin felt on fire everywhere his fingertips pressed against her skin. She dragged her own fingers down his chest, feeling the soft and strong muscles built over the years he had spent here. Her hands ended up cradling his face as she broke off the kiss and lazily opened her eyes.

He didn't look conflicted or worried; he looked peaceful. She was glad for that. She didn't want this to happen if she was only one who desire it. And she desired it, like an ache she couldn't ignore. It wouldn't go away until she had him under her fingertips.

"Do you want me?" she asked. She could feel the natural response, the hardness growing in his trousers she could feel against her thigh. But she needed to hear him say the words.

There was no doubt, nothing that told him this would be wrong. He had come to terms with his demons, with his faith and his decisions. "Yes," he said, voice grown husky. This was consensual, more than that, it was a need, a desire, a want he never knew he could want. It didn't matter the years between them, the difference in age of nine years. Nine was sacred to the Vikings wasn't it?

The moment the thought lightened upon his mind, he nodded, nose brushing against hers. "Yes, I want you," he finished, kissing her quickly before she spoke.

"Did you know I want you?" Her words were nearly a whisper, her thumbs brushing over his cheekbones.

"Long before I realized I wanted you," he answered. It was difficult to remember why this was happening, that she was leaving, that she was saying goodbye to him here tonight. The blanket of sadness around her was evident and he wanted to be able to push it away, to make her light and bright and happy once again.

"I know," she said simply, taking his hands in hers and stepping backward. Her bed sat nestled in the corner and that's where she was taking him. She didn't let go of his hands, pulling her with him back onto the bed. She wanted to savor the taste of his mouth that reminded her of sea and forests and he wanted to kiss away her oppressive thoughts.

His pants stayed restrictive around his waist but he kissed her and tasted the sunlight on her lips. She curled her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, wanting to feel more of him, all of him pressed against her, not hovering above her like he was. Instead, she moved his hand down her chest and after a moments hesitation he gently squeezed her nipple and she let out an unexpected gasp. He stopped as if he had done something wrong.

"No," she said, shaking her head and squeezing her fingers around his wrist. "Do that again."

He kissed her and did as she said. It was less of a surprise this time but she still moaned half of his name into his mouth. She could feel the space between her legs grow hotter and wetter and she knew how this worked but she wanted everything at once, she felt greedy. Her mother once told her that if the sex wasn't pleasurable for the woman than the man wasn't doing it correctly. Gyda certainly felt pleasured and they had done little more then kiss.

Her hands roamed down his torso and she dug her fingers into his waist. He seemed to read her mind and lowered himself so flesh met flesh and he grew bolder, kissing down her jaw and neck, his beard more teasing than his lips. He pressed them against the pulse at the dip in her collarbone, moving in such a way that his leg brushed her inner thigh and she gasped, dragging his lips back to hers with her hands in his hair.

She kissed him with parted lips. "Take your pants off," she said finally, unable to wait any longer. She wanted to feel him inside of her, to feel as close to him as she possibly could. He was being patient or cautious, not wanting to do something wrong, but there was nothing he could do wrong.

He moved away from her, off of the bed and she didn't care for the cool air that tackled her body. She knew how this worked. She knew her mother liked being on top, but she didn't like the thought of it, not with Athelstan. He was still as quiet and reserved as any other time. The darkness enveloped him as he moved to undress and she waited and watched, pushing herself to her elbows and then she sat upright, holding a hand out to him.

"Come, lay next to me," she told him. He laced fingers with hers and did just that. He lay on his side and she pressed herself close, feeling him long and hard against her hip as she took a hand and trailed it down his jaw.

"Don't be so nervous," she said quietly, gently trailing her fingertips down his chest until she found his hand, which she took once again.

"I can't help it," he replied, and she imagined him much younger than he actually was. It didn't matter what age he was; she knew who he was, what he needed, how he thought.

"I can show you what to do. Let me show you," she said instead. He didn't reply with words but she knew he needed the guidance. Taking his wrist in her fingers, she pressed his palm against her stomach and moved his hand slowly downward, over golden silky hair to the place between her thighs. She was so wet and ready. He took in a sharp intake of breath and she moved his fingers to the small bundle of nerves that she knew she wanted him to touch. She let out a gasp and dug her fingernails into his arm when his fingers pressed and moved against the spot. She rested her forehead against his shoulder and bit down on her cheek. "There," she gasped out and he moved his fingers again, sending jolts of pleasure to the tips of her toes.

It was all too much and too little and she wanted him inside of her so badly she couldn't wait any longer. She took his wrist again, stopping short a jolt of excitement that now rest in her core, tightening her stomach.

"Athelstan," she said, low and needy, her breath against his neck.

He pressed a kiss to her lips as he moved, the weight of him pressing against her chest. He shifted and her legs parted for him. He settled between them and heard the soft plea on her voice for him. He felt as if he should be trembling all over, his nerves on fire, but he felt steady and strong.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said as the moon hid behind clouds, drowning them in darkness.

"You won't," she whispered, her hands searching down his torso.

He kissed her again and steadied himself, pushing through her entrance. Her breath left her body and her nails dug into his sides.

"Keep going."

And he did, pushing himself deeper inside of her. She was slick and warm and her muscles formed around him like they were made for him. He couldn't help but moan as he pulled himself back and then farther in until he was buried inside of her. His face was pressed against her neck, her legs bent at his sides, her hands moving to smooth out his hair and pulling him in for a kiss. It was the encouragement he needed.

He began to move and she adjusted around him, the tension building in her core. They kissed and she clutched at his arms and arched her back as he moved faster and buried his face in the crook of her neck, kissing her hot skin and hearing her let out soft mewls and moan out his name in his ear. They met in a rhythm and she felt the release of the tightness in her middle in one breathtaking moment, sending stars across her eyelids. The muscles inside of her clenched and he cried out, moving inside of her until his own dam broke and warmth spread through her from him and herself, from to her fingers and toes.

Her breath was shallow and his was ragged. He nearly collapsed on top of her, bodies fitting together like they were made to be. She stroked his hair and kissed his temple, feeling his heart beat alongside hers.

"I don't want to let you go," he said into her ear, and she knew what he meant.

Tears glistened in her eyes and she blinked up at the ceiling, curling her hand around the back of his neck.

He pushed himself back onto his elbows and looked down at her, seeing the faint glimmer of her eyes. He moved a hand and brushed it across the raised scar on her cheek. He didn't say anything, only kissed her softly and then detangled himself from her, leaving cool air to attack her body. She lay there, waiting for him to return, wondering if this was just some wonderful dream. But he did return and he had cleaned himself and pulled on soft trousers. He took her hands and pulled her from the bed holding him against her for a moment, her hands clasped against her breast between the two of them.

"I love you," he said, words never spoken by a truer voice.

She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded, stepping back and letting him brush away rampant stray hairs. "Will you stay?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yes."

Dressed in a thin nightdress, Gyda crawled into her bed, rolling onto her side and looking at him in the darkness. His eyes were shut, his chest slowly rising and falling.

"I knew this would end badly for both of us," she said finally, holding her hands to her chest.

He frowned and turned onto his side, opening his eyes so he could see hers. "Life is unusually unfair to you, Gyda. But you are strong and I know you'll find one good thing to come out of this."

"Many good things," she corrected him, lifting a hand to rest gently against his face. "You won't leave me tonight?"

"No," he said quickly. He had no intentions of moving from this spot. "I wouldn't even care if we were found."

"I would."

"But we won't." He reached across the gap between them and pressed his thumb to her lips. "It doesn't matter. Sleep."

Once again, they fit together like pieces in a puzzle, her back pressed against his chest, their legs twisted around each other like they were meant to be. Athelstan's arm was tucked around her, holding her close and protecting her.

She felt the safest and happiest she had in a long time.

She slept soundly, more soundly than she had in a very long time—maybe ever—and perhaps it was because she knew that her freedom was going to be taken from her very soon. She could have, and should have, protested against this marriage, but Bjorn needed to become the next  _Jarl_ , that was what was in the gods' plans for her brother. So it was up to her to forge alliances that her people needed.

Somehow or another they were not caught. Gyda woke slowly to the high bright sun, feeling momentary happiness in muddled morning thoughts. Athelstan had shifted in the night, laying flat on his stomach now. A lazy smile on her face, she hooked one of her legs over his and pressed her body against his side, resting her chin against his shoulder and tracing the line of his spine with a fingertip.

It woke him enough, slowly dragging him out of sleep. He thought everything had been an entirely too vivid dream, but it wasn't. His heart swelled to burst in his chest and he kept his eyes closed, focusing on every touch of her skin against his.

She nuzzled her nose into his hair. "I know you are awake," she said lightly, the words tickling his ear.

He smiled in spite of himself. "No, I am not."

"How can you be answering me if you are asleep?"

"Isn't this a dream?" He was teasing. It was not at all a dream. The moment he opened his eyes, his vision was filled with her pale skin and golden hair, falling around her shoulders like waterfalls.

"If it is a dream then why can I hear the village waking up? If this was a dream there would be no one around us and we could do whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted," she said, desire in her tone for all of those things. Life just wasn't that simple. It might have been, one day, if things had gone differently, if Ragnar hadn't decided to leave to go West. But if he hadn't, Athelstan wouldn't have been in her life at all.

"If this was a dream I should be much different than I actually am."

"No," she shook her head. "I like you the way you are."

"Thank you," he mused, though he meant it.

"I fear that Bjorn might come back," Gyda whispered, pulling herself away from him and laying her head on her own feather stuffed pillow.

"I fear your mother more," Athelstan said honestly, meeting her eyes. "But Bjorn would definitely kill me on the spot."

She actually laughed lightly, which might have seemed strange to anyone else, but he understood what she meant by it, as he always did. "Would you hold me, just for a minute? I promise not to let my brother kill you," she added.

He turned onto his back and pulled her against him with a strong arm. She nestled her head against his chest and splayed her fingers against his skin. The most content of sighs escaped her lips and she sent a silent prayer to the goddess Lofn thanking for this moment—all of her moments with Athelstan—and for the happiness it brought her. She would never forget how she was allowed to love someone so wholly and to be loved to purely in return.

Eventually, they did untangle themselves from each other and dress and prepare. Gyda would be spending her days from now on in the Longhouse, until her future husband arrived. Lagertha said she had heard of Harald's ambition to rule all of Norway, just not his parish. Gyda tried to feel excitement about it; and she did, about the thought of being a  _queen_ , something not even her mother had ever strived for. If Gyda wasn't going to be a warrior, she would be a mighty queen.

Lagertha did all the things a mother should do for her daughter in the days before her wedding. Kattegat was preparing for a wedding that was going to happen almost as soon as the Norwegian stepped off of his boat.

Gyda barely caught glimpses of Athelstan as she was coddled off. They spent a long deal of time praying. Gyda, Lagertha, the other women of the village. They prayed to the goddess Frigg for a strong, lasting marriage. They prayed to the goddess Hlín for Gyda's protection. On the morning of the actual ceremony, they would pray to Freya, the goddess of fertility. It was the common way of Gyda's people, and she followed her culture's traditions fully. Her heart of love might not have been involved in her prayers, but she knew in her true Viking heart that this was needed. She would do what was necessary. She also, in her heart of hearts, knew that she wished to be married, to bear children and raise them.

The day that the Norwegian ships were spotted, the Longhouse was set for a wedding feast and Gyda spent much of her day being bathed and dressed. Her mother wove flowers in her hair and spoke to her in soft tones about the life of a married woman. It was sound advice, but Gyda would expect nothing less from Lagertha.

She should not have had her thoughts on any other man on this day, but she couldn't help herself. She hadn't been close to Athelstan in days and she kept trying to replay memories in her mind and found herself unable to duplicate his voice and his scent and she wanted to be near to him once more before she was handed off to a king she didn't even know.

It was a fool's hope, a plea that didn't get answered.

"I wish Father were here," she heard herself saying, before she could stop the words. Thankfully she and Lagertha were alone in the room, the other women leaving to join in the festivities. Gyda wondered what her soon-to-be husband looked like.

Lagertha stood in front of her daughter and took her shoulders gently in her hands, not wanting to crush the soft white fabric of Gyda's dress. "I understand," she said, taking in the sight of her daughter, her youngest child, all grown up. "Sometimes I wish he was here, too."

Despite Ragnar's indiscretions and his decisions, despite the hatred hardened around Lagertha's heart, she would forever love the simple fisherman who fought to gain her love. Gyda had bits and pieces of him within her, no matter who said that Gyda was much like her mother. She was also her father's daughter.

No one would notice a few wrinkles. Gyda threw her arms around her mother and Lagertha embraced her daughter for the last time she would ever just be  _hers_. Stepping back, Lagertha straightened the flowers set in Gyda's hair and smiled at her, a strong, motherly smile.

This was it. The last time Gyda would be just her mother's daughter. She would be someone's wife soon. She should have felt happier than she was.

At least King Harald was attractive. He was younger than she imagined. She couldn't help but gauge his age with Athelstan's and came to the conclusion that he was a year or two younger than the priest. He was tall and broad shouldered with brown hair and barely any beard.

It took little time for the marriage to be official and the true center of any wedding to begin: the feast. Gyda sat at the table beside her next husband, between her stepfather and Harald. Her mother sat on the other side of Geirr and they all had a full view of the Longhouse. Gyda spotted Floki with Helga perched on his knee. Arne with his one eye, smashed glasses with Olaf, one of the warriors who had stayed behind from Ragnar's latest adventure. And, of course, she saw Athelstan, shuffled into a corner, the Longhouse brimming with Harald's men and the villagers. He was too far away for her to see the expression on her face, but she would guess it would not be that of happiness for the new union.

The evening moved along. Harald was all bragging and sloppy compliments, but he did not seem violent or ill willed. And what reason would he have to be? She was young and beautiful, and he mentioned not the scar across her face or even let his eyes linger on it. She wasn't sure if that made her feel better or worse. Athelstan had never shied away from her scars.

Under the table, she pressed her thumb against the long scar across her palm.

Soon, the  _seiðr_  went about another round of ceremonious words of sorcery. The room grew louder and more rowdy, the way it always did at weddings before the new wife was taken off to consummate the marriage. It was the way of her people to be loud and brash, she thought nothing wrong with it, but was thankful that none followed to more than the closed room door before going off to more enjoyable activities that included  _consummation_  of their own and, always, more beer.

Athelstan was one of the few who slipped away, unnoticed to return to the quiet cottage. He sat by the edge of the water, thoughts drifting like clouds on the wind.

He knew Gyda wanted a family, to have children and care for them; it was in her nature. But that didn't stop the sour feeling at the back of his throat from appearing when he thought of her with another man, a man who would take her away soon, within days. Everything in the Vikings' custom was either quick or an even nine-counted time. He wasn't sure he could bear nine days of this.

Harald had his own plans for how long he would stay here. He was gaining a wife, beautiful in spite of the mark across her face, and the alliance of  _Jarl_  Geirr and those who were, in turn, allied with him. It was good for everyone. He was ambitious, even more so now that he had the promise of producing heirs.

He wasn't as drunk as he could have been, which made the sex more bearable. It felt cold and unusual, Gyda doing nothing more than following the simple steps to get through it before her belly was filled with his seed and he rolled off of her, muttering about a long journey before passing out.

She barely slept, but she didn't leave the room. It felt as if she had just closed her eyes when Lagertha pulled the door open and woke both of them. Harald pulled on his clothes and left the room half dressed.

"How do you feel?" Lagertha asked, coming to sit on the edge of the mattress.

Gyda took in a breath. "I feel fine," she said simply, sitting up and dangling her legs off the side of the bed. "He said we would be leaving in three days."

Lagertha pressed her lips together and nodded once. "I heard that as well. He is a king, he wants to get back to his own land."

Gyda said little and the silence passed between mother and daughter. She wasn't sure exactly what to say or do. If she were more than Lagertha—even Ragnar had a streak of stubbornness within him—she would have voiced her opinions against this marriage long ago. But she hadn't and now it was too late.

Once dressed, Gyda joined the breakfast tables. There was both food left from last night's feast and new fruit laid out. Most everyone nursed new beers to soothe their heads. The Longhouse was less full.

She didn't see Athelstan.

In fact, she didn't see him until she was leaving.

Gyda had packed her things and prepared herself for the journey to her new home. Every day she and her mother prayed to Frigga and Freya and each night she lay with Harald. It became easier. He would even kiss her, though his lips were hungry and rough. She even pressed him down against the mattress below her on their last shared night, something that he enjoyed.

His men brought her few things onto the boat. It wasn't as grand as the one Loki made for Ragnar, but it was a very nice bought. There were flowers braided in her hair and she was wearing her cleanest burgundy dress. The same one that was attached with memories a married woman shouldn't be carrying with her. She didn't care. She would carry them anyway, holding them close to her heart.

Everyone had come to say goodbye to her. She was hugged many times by the men and women close to Ragnar and Geirr and Lagertha. Floki whispered something odd, which was usual for the woodsman, in her ear for just her to hear before Bjorn pushed him away and crushed his sister in a bear hug. She bunched her fingers in her brother's shirt, imagining him as both Bjorn and Ragnar. She didn't know why she had done it, but it made her feel better. She even allowed Geirr to hug her under Lagertha's watchful eye.

Being a part of the family—Gyda could no longer think of him as a slave, though she hadn't done that very much anyway—was Athelstan. Harald was standing down the dock, watching and waiting. Lagertha and Bjorn had both threatened him about hurting Gyda and he was well prepared to leave Kattegat and return home.

She stood in front of him and Athelstan thought she looked beautiful. Perhaps the most beautiful he had ever seen, but he assimilated that it was only because it would be the last time he would see her.

Gyda said his name softly and sadly and he thanked the Viking tradition of being very physical which allowed her to slip her arms around his shoulders and hold him. He wished they could have said goodbye in private, but he would take this much. He wrapped one arm around her and she squeezed her eyes shut, breathing him in one last time, leaving him with nothing but a whispered declaration of love before she stepped back, turning quickly as her eyes filled with tears.

Harald and one of his men helped her onto the boat. It was sturdy and of fine craftsmanship. Once aboard, Gyda turned to look over the crowd, of the men and women and children and family and loved ones she would be leaving behind. She might not ever see them again. She lifted her hand in a wave as the boat shifted, sliding out into the water. She couldn't even stand there for long before the only other woman on the boat—her name was Asa and she had been Harald's nursemaid when he was a boy—told her that she should be seated for the trip to ensure her safety.

With one last look, her eyes settled upon the dark haired Athelstan before her view of Kattegat was taken from her.

She didn't understand why Asa was so concerned with her; she had been on boats before. She was a fisherman's daughter; she was accustomed to them. But then the woman explained how she could be carrying the king's future son and how keeping her safe was all that mattered.

Gyda liked Asa. She was softer than Lagertha, and older, she was wise and straightforward and yet there was a kindness around her eyes.

She had imagined Norway to be so different from her own land, but it was far from it. Harald's petty kingdom—constantly growing, he had boasted to her at their wedding night feast—was called Vestfold and it reminded her very much of her own village. It was bigger, yes, with a small castle built of stone. It was no more than a glorified Longhouse built with stone and not wood, but it was a change.

Many little things were also different, but Gyda was guided through them. There was a large ceremony held here for the marriage, to introduce her as the stronghold of Harald's line as he went off to conquer and become the king of Norway, not just of his small kingdom. Gyda was highly impressed with how well he spoke; it reminded her of her father. His ambition was grand and he was always talking to her about all of it.

He loved to talk about his ideas, his dreams of the future, the things he planned to do. Gyda enjoyed listening because he was so passionate about it.

Months passed and Gyda thought she fell ill, only to find that she was not. She was pregnant. She was then pampered even more than before with what help there was in Vestfold. She wasn't allowed to do strenuous work, and she was hardly able to leave the castle after her belly swelled big enough. She disliked being idle and asked in passing for a loom so she could work. She had been sewing children's clothes to pass her time, but thinking of her mother soothed Gyda. Lagertha had always either held a sword and shield in her hands or a loom and yarn.

She didn't think there was anything wrong with wanting to be reminded of her home, of the people she loved and the place where she had grown. Vestfold and its people were a lot like her own, but that didn't mean she that she didn't long for her own land.

Asa was constantly by her side. Gyda often walked among the market and the dirt packed streets and the woman would follow, speaking almost constantly, telling her the life stories of almost everyone they passed. The people here were more guarded and less open, but in the years to come, Gyda would find them welcoming and loving.

The king left often and returned with stories of conquest and even more land to attach to his parish. Each time he came back, he told Gyda about his invasions as if he were offering her gifts. She enjoyed hearing about all of it, her face would show her interest and he would leave and return again with even more land under his title. It was almost childish but charming how her silent encouragements spurred him on to grow his kingdom.

Gyda also grew as the winter months passed by and the snows came. She stayed inside often then, covering herself with furs and never able to get warm enough. She had made friends with another woman her age named Gilla, who kept her company. Gyda showed her how to work the loom the way her mother had taught her and Gilla was clumsy at first, but she tried.

Harald returned for the winter months and laid out his plans for when the season passed. He would not stay idle long and often went off on hunting trips for days on end and returning to feast with fresh meat and stored food.

He was not a bad person. He was, in fact, a very good person. He was ambitious with blood riled in his veins to please Gyda because he found her quite charming and easy to love. She grew in her own strength as years passed and together they created quite a formidable pair and Harald took over more and more land.

He was away in the early spring when Gyda went into labor. She feared the sickness that had spread through Kattegat, the one she had barely survived, would make her weak. She did not want to die and leave a child motherless. Gilla was there and Asa and other women who had been through this before.

If someone had to go through that much pain to bring a person into the world, than there was no doubt of the love from mother to child. A person wouldn't go through that much pain for anyone unless they loved them completely.

Gyda felt faint and fragile by the time squealing cries filled her ears. Someone exclaimed that it was a boy before she faded in out and out of consciousness. It lasted for days but she regained her strength enough to survive, to sit up in her bed and hold her baby, who was as healthy as a horse.

She spent hours searching over every inch of him, his tiny toes and feet and hands and fingers. She could feel is strong heart beating beneath her fingertips and she loved him more than she ever thought possible.

The king returned two weeks after the birth of his son. It was a mother's choice to name her children, nine days after they were born. Harald was happiest to learn Gyda had birthed a boy, as every man wanted heirs. She let him hold the baby only once he was safely seated.

"My son," Harald said, checking fingers and toes like Gyda had. "What did you name him?"

She pushed her tongue against the back of her teeth, trying not to smile. "Ålov," she replied.

He repeated the name under his breath and then put his hand over the baby's torso and spoke to him. "Ålov, how do you like that?"

The baby Ålov gurgled and fiercely grabbed hold of a finger.

The birth of his son spurred Harald on even more to gain full control of Norway. Gyda soon found herself completely taken with Ålov, they spent every waking moment together. When Harald would return, he would not only tell his tales to Gyda, but also to his son. Ålov would watch him with wide green eyes and Harald would speak in soft tones about the kingdom he was building. Sometimes Gyda would come and find them sleeping on a bed, the baby between father and the wall and she couldn't help herself but to feel exceptionally happy and lucky and grateful.

Gyda found that she could love him. The king, that is. It was clear that he loved her and he showed it by way of conquering lands and returning home. The times he did return home, he would take Gyda away to bed. They had long since grown accustomed to one another. He would kiss her roughly because it was the only way he knew how. She would put his hands where she wanted them and climb on top of him, pushing him down by his shoulders.

They would lie together afterwards, the cool air biting at their skin. And perhaps she didn't love him the way she should, but she felt that she did love him. She didn't love him the way Lagertha loved Ragnar, but she didn't know if she could ever love somebody the way her parents loved each other. She didn't want fights and blood and biting words. She liked being Harald's confidant, to hear his goals and his victories and to know that he loved her too.

Ålov grew bigger every day, the hair growing on his head dark. He was a quiet baby, always with a look of fierce concentration on his small face. He was nearing the age of one when she found that she was pregnant again. This was what she wanted; a family, children to care for and surround herself with.

It didn't stop her from imagining living back at Kattegat, showing Ålov how to eat berries off of plants and catch small fish in his hands before he was too old to spend that much time with his mother and would rather be fighting with sticks and mimicking everything his father did.

Months passed and Ålov started walking around, arms held out at his sides to keep his balance. Gilla and Asa were always there, helping as Gyda's second child grew within her. It was difficult to chase after a little one when she could barely walk down a set of stairs without feeling tired.

She stayed inside through the cold and the heat. She often found herself wishing for Lagertha to be at her side, to kiss her hair and tell her what to do.

The king was gone yet again when she went into labor. He returned the day his second son was born. The following days were held with celebration but also concern, as Gyda was weak. It took her quite some time to regain her strength enough to move around and see her sons. They had two years between them, almost to the day. Ålov found his younger brother fascinating.

Gyda named him Rorek.

She refused to be fragile. She forced herself to be strong, her will over powering everything else. She was the daughter of Ragnar and Lagertha Lothbrok; she wouldn't die easily. She prayed to her gods and goddesses for strength and they answered her prayers.

She and Harald became very close as he could taste the title of King of Norway and it was just out of reach. She supported his quest and was pleased with having given him the sons he wanted. They were also the sons she wanted, but she would have loved any children that came from her own womb.

When Ålov was five and Rorek was three, Bjorn arrived for a visit. He had a small fleet of men with him, but he had come specifically to see his sister.

Gyda couldn't help but cry the moment she saw him. She had missed him and he was a reminder that she wasn't forgotten here in this growing kingdom. Harald was also home to greet his brother-in-law.

Bjorn acted the way any uncle would when meeting his nephews. Gyda introduced him and then he went straight to roar at them and chase them around in the dirt. The boys showed off, as all children did, Ålov speaking loudly and fast and Rorek trying to keep up but not having the speaking skills to do so.

By the time they had exhausted themselves, they resorted to lining up rocks in the dirt for some sort of game Ålov had come up with. Bjorn came to sit beside Gyda. He had things to tell her.

"How are you, brother? Tell me," Gyda said before he could begin. She couldn't believe how much he had grown and matured in the years since she had left. He seemed like an entirely different person and he reminded her so much of their father.

"I am well," he said. "I have a wife now. And a daughter."

"Just one?" she asked teasingly.

Bjorn snorted and shook his head. "Many new children have been born at home," he said. And he meant it. Even Floki had a wild little son to teach all of his odd ways to.

"I miss it," Gyda said simply. "But I also like it here."

"How is he? Is he a good husband?" The undertones in his voice told her that he would have no problem doing harm to someone who wasn't good to his sister.

"Yes," she said quickly. "He is very good to me. And have you heard what he has been doing?" The men all had yet to sit and share stories, but it would be happening soon enough.

Bjorn nodded. "Everyone has. It is impressive."

She agreed with him softly and turned her attention back to her boys. Rorek was small for his age but she foresaw him becoming tall and strong. His hair was so fair it was hard to tell he had any, and his eyes were the same blue as Harald's. Ålov was older and therefore bigger anyway. His eyes were dark and green like hers and his hair was dark. Very dark.

Beside her, Bjorn was diving into telling her what else had happened in Kattegat since she had left. "Father has returned once, but left again. Lagertha is doing well and she enjoys taking care of some of the children, especially Tofa."

"Tofa?" Gyda echoed, eyebrows furrowed in the direction of her children.

"My daughter. Mother spends all of her time with her," Bjorn explained. "All of the children running around makes it feel like a whole new village."

"I can imagine." Harald had once mentioned Ålov's dark hair, saying his father Halfden had black hair and he had told Ålov that Halfden's spirit must live within him now. Gyda had been happy to believe those words…until now. Because, who else did she know to have dark green eyes and dark hair?

Bjorn noticed the faraway sound of her voice and put his hand down on her shoulder. "Are your children that much more important for your attention than your brother you haven't seen in five years?" He words were serious but they sounded light.

Gyda blinked and sucked in a breath through her nose, turning her attention toward her brother. She flashed a quick smile. "I'm sorry. Let us go see where my husband is," she said, standing quickly and walking to her children. "Come on, boys," she said, picking Rorek up under his arms and setting him on her hip. Bjorn grabbed Ålov and set him upon his shoulders and the four of them began to walk.

Harald was going to use Bjorn's visit as a time to ask for favors. The larger his rule over Norway grew, the more protection and allies fell to Kattegat and all of its neighboring alliances. But it wasn't quite enough. Harald wasn't the King of Norway yet; there were defiant villages and towns that he needed assistance folding under his rule.

He requested for Bjorn to join him in a few weeks town with a group of fighters. Bjorn agreed to it, even though he was not the  _Jarl_  of Kattegat.

In true kingly fashion, Harald told the stories of his many conquests and Bjorn told some of his own tales. It was loud and happy and Gyda felt as if she had stepped back in time. She recognized some of the faces brought back with Bjorn.

They stayed for a long week, discussing battle plans and spending time with Ålov and Rorek. The two men had a grand time playing with the boys and Bjorn expressed many times how he hoped to have a son soon. They also discussed, away from Gyda, the riling of Rollo in a nearby land. The uncle Bjorn thought to be lost to the wilderness was not at all forgotten, but growing his own defenses. For whatever the reason, he had yet to find out. But he told Harald, because it felt like the type of thing to share.

Gyda wasn't sure if she or her sons were sadder when Bjorn left. He kissed her forehead and enveloped her in a hug before grabbing Ålov and Rorek and feigning taking them away with him down the dock to the boat.

She felt bittersweet as the boat disappeared out of view.

That night, with Ålov and Rorek curled up between her and Harald in bed, she couldn't sleep. She had never thought of it before, but seeing Bjorn stirred up many memories that she had pushed far back in her mind. The thoughts kept her up all night.

Harald stayed for weeks. Gyda thought he would be leaving to join Bjorn and the others he would bring to fight against the Norwegians who were defying a full country union. He told her that they discussed it and he would stay, but he would leave soon after to see what had been done.

Gyda fell back into her quiet ways. Asa and Gilla helped her with the boys as she began to weave on the loom for the first time in a long time. With children to care for, she had little time to do much else besides put her full attention onto them.

She didn't ignore them. In fact, they often just ended up playing with each other around her feet as Gilla talked in excited tones about her wedding day, which was coming close.

Time passed and Gyda was thankful when Harald was around and she could push him into bed. She had taught him, without him fully realizing, how to be a perfect lover. He was easily pleased, but she was not. She taught him how to so slyly that he didn't even know he was putting extra time in, he just was and both of them ended up satisfied.

He settled his claim over all of Norway, becoming the king he had strived to be. He kept a hold over the land for years. Ålov and Rorek grew. Everything was growing and expanding but for some reason, it wasn't going to last. Someone must have displeased the gods enough for tragedy to begin spiraling down upon them.

Gyda had a miscarriage of a third baby. It was bloody and exhausting and traumatizing and she spent the next month never out of sight of her children. She even forced them to sleep beside her and Harald wasn't allowed to touch her. The one time he did, she pushed him back roughly and kneed him in the groin before she realized what she was doing. The spark within her resembled Lagertha and Gyda held her sadness within her.

Asa was a big help in getting her through the pain of losing a child she hadn't even had a chance to have yet. Soon she found her way back to herself, remembering watching her mother go through the same misfortune.

As Ålov was nearing his seventh birthday, everything changed. Harald's brother, Eric, long since thought to have been dead, revealed himself. There was dispute as to what should be done about the news, but nothing could be done before Eric's following of men came to raid and kill everyone in Vestfold.

Harald was killed by his brother's sword but Gyda and her children spared for Eric's own sick enjoyment. He held their lives in his hands.

And then it got worse, as Englishmen, stepping out of their comfort zone, decided to try to take out some of these eastern savages. It was a mistake, arriving in a recently wounded country. But they caused enough chaos as they slaughtered by Eric and his men for Gyda to escape. It was all a confusing mess because one second she was thinking how she was certainly facing death, and the next, a boat in the sleek shape of Floki's design arrived and Bjorn took her and her boys and they left. Just like that.

The hold on the united Norway would have to be put into the hands of Eric. Whether he was capable or not was no concern of Gyda, however it saddened her that all of the work Harald had put into creating this kingdom for her was going to go to waste.

If Eric decided to come after her, if he cared enough about the thought of her children growing up and coming back to take over the kingdom, Bjorn promised her he would slaughter them. Any men he sent, they wouldn't touch her.

Everyone knew why Bjorn had suddenly taken a ship and left with a band of men. They had gotten word of what was happening in west, following the death of Ragnar at King Ælla's hands and the new  _Jarl_  had left to bring back his sister and her children before they were killed.

Bjorn hadn't even asked Athelstan his opinion; he had just jumped into a boat and left. Athelstan stayed behind—he was never the warrior type and had killed enough men in his lifetime to count on one hand—and continued his normal routines.

After  _Jarl_ Geirr's death years earlier during a battle and raid planned by King Harald, Bjorn had stepped into the position and he had done surprisingly well. At twenty-seven, he easily slipped into the role and his wife Liv was a strong advisor. His mother, Lagertha, and Athelstan were the two people he always discussed big decisions with.

But not this time. When it had to do with Gyda, Bjorn never thought clearly. He had a brother's love for her; he would protect her at all costs, the same as he would for his mother, wife and children.

Athelstan was given the cottage by the bay by Lagertha. She stayed in the Longhouse with Bjorn and Liv and their children, Tofa, Bjórr and the baby, Svein. Athelstan, no longer a slave or a priest but just a person, took on the role of a true member of society. He kept animals and left the fishing to others; it was never his strong suit.

As the days passed since Bjorn and his party had left, Athelstan went about the remedial tasks of feeding the pigs and piglets and sheep and chickens. He had just a few sheep, to shear their wool and sell.

He was up in the woods—walking the very same invisible paths that Gyda had once taken him to steal away from prying eyes under the excuse of doing chores asked by Lagertha—to pluck mushrooms when Bjorn's boat was seen in the distance.

This wasn't how she expected to arrive back home. Blood plagued the last few months of her life, from her child to the slaughtering of her husband and her friends and the people she had grown close to in Vestfold. She saw neither her mother nor Geirr in the crowd forming to see if Bjorn had been successful is bringing Gyda home. She didn't know how he knew the chaos that was unfolding in Norway, nor did she care to ask. She should have been loyal, but her husband was dead and the people of Vestfold were dead. She had never ventured out of the village, so she had no emotional ties elsewhere in the country. Her emotional ties were here, in Kattsgat.

No one was cheering, they had long faces forced into smiles of relief when they saw Gyda being helped out of the boat, alive and well. Ålov clambered out behind her, a boy of seven with a mop of black hair on his head and heaviness in his step despite his age. Rorek was handed over by rough hands. Gyda always thought he looked like a miniature version of her father and he had Ragnar's temperament as well. Or perhaps she just saw it that way because she missed her father.

Bjorn walked down the dock behind her, both of her sons quiet. They had been through hell the past week between the invasion and slaughter by Eric and then the arrival of the westerners, Englishmen, and the trip back here, to a place that they didn't know. The only thing that was keeping them calm was the slightly familiar face of Bjorn and their mother's own calmness.

Gyda couldn't believe she was back here, a place she never expected to see again. It looked the same even though she had been gone for nearly eight long years. It was the beginnings of summer, everything was bright and green and flowers grew everywhere.

Fear gripped her throat when she saw that her mother wasn't in the crowd. She was turning to Bjorn to ask what had happened to Lagertha when the woman pushed through the crowd.

"Gyda!" she cried out, tears filing her eyes. The time for keeping emotions in check was long passed. She gathered her daughter up in her arms and held her close, warm tears falling down her cheeks. Gyda clung to her, squeezing her eyes shut. She had cried enough over the sudden death of Harald—and Asa and Gilla and Gilla's babies and the rest of the children in Vestfold—that she had no more left in her. But the flush on her face was evidence enough.

Lagertha stepped back finally, holding Gyda's arms. "You have grown so much," she said, melancholy happiness bleeding into her voice. And Gyda had. Bearing children had made her body fuller, with wider hips and a rounder face even.

Her mother might have been older, but she was just as beautiful as ever and just as Gyda had remembered her to be. "You look the same," she said before feeling hands tugging on her dress. Both of her boys had namedays just a month before; they were seven and five and looked nothing alike but they were hers.

Lagertha's eyes fell on them and she smiled and crouched down. It didn't matter that the whole village was behind them, waiting and watching. This was an unprecedented time that needed to break some rules.

"Hello," she said, her voice that same soothing tone that Gyda remembered. "You must be Ålov and Rorek."

"How do you know our names?" Rorek asked. Ålov was still the quiet one, especially after everything that had happened in the past few days.

"Ah, I am a mother, I know all things to do with little children," she teased. Both of the boys smiled. "And your  _fǫðurbróðir_  told me." She glanced up at Bjorn, whose face was harsh. "Come, you must be hungry. Let your mother find her way back home on her own." Lagertha stood then and held out her hands for the boys. Ålov reached forward first and Rorek grabbed the other quickly after.

As they disappeared back towards the Longhouse, Bjorn put his hand on Gyda's shoulder gently. "Has it changed very much?"

She shook her head no and together they walked forward. Gyda was overwhelmed seeing so many people she had known her whole lives again along with a scattering of new faces. There would be a funeral feast, not quite a celebration, but one to show homage to the lives lost and also to celebrate the safe arrival of Gyda and her children.

It didn't happen immediately. No, the crowds dispersed and Bjorn took Gyda to the Longhouse. She met his wife Liv and his children. They were all blue eyed and blonde haired duplicates of her brother. Gyda was very surprised when three other boys showed themselves. She didn't recognize them, but they were her half brothers, Aslaug's children.

Ivar was fourteen now and Halfden just twelve; they both had their warbands. Ragnvold was nine but close to ten. And they were here. Gyda asked why and Bjorn explained how King Ælla had killed Ragnar—or at least the accounts brought back about it—and how Aslaug had died shortly after bringing her children here. Lagertha had long since let the fires of her hatred die away and had been helping raise the boys for the past two years.

Gyda felt like she had stepped into a whole new world; so many things had changed, but then again, so much was the same.

Lagertha allowed her to eat privately with her boys, who began to grow a bit more curious about their new surroundings. Rorek was pointing at everything in the room asking what it was, even if he knew already. Ålov would answer most of the time with a little shake of his head that made him seem so much older than he actually was.

After they had eaten, Ålov and Rorek went to play with Tofa and Bjórr and Gyda sat watching them with Lagertha and Liv with baby Svein on her lap.

"Have you heard about Rollo?" Gyda asked quietly, eyes on Tofa who was watching the boys trying to wrestle.

Darkness flickered across Lagertha's eyes. "Yes. Someone has said Siggy is with him." There was a bite to her voice.

Gyda hadn't heard that and she let out a sigh, bringing her legs up against her chest and resting her chin on her knees. "It feels odd being back," she said.

"Has much changed?" Liv asked.

Gyda shrugged a shoulder. "Not really. The people…there are more children." She sucked in a breath and looked over at her mother. "I am sorry about Geirr."

Lagertha nodded. "He is in Valhalla. I know he is happy there."

"I was there when they were discussing what was going to happen. Harald knew some of Bjorn's party had died but I didn't know who."

"There are always casualties in war. Your brother is a very good  _Jarl_ ," Lagertha said, always one to think clearly and speak wisely.

"Yes. It looks like he is."

They stayed quiet for the rest of the night. Gyda told them a bit about Norway, but it was too raw to think of all of the people that were now dead and she fell asleep with her boys sprawled out around her, dirty but happy.

She next day she woke up alone and in a place that was both strange and familiar. She sat up quickly, heart racing before she remembered where she was and what had happened. She hadn't even gotten undressed before falling asleep. Standing, she smoothed out her skirt and straightened her bodice before stepping out of the room. She assumed Lagertha was with her children.

She moved toward the main room, where an empty table sat, the doors closed. Tofa was sitting to the side with Svein on her lap as Ålov, Rorek and Bjórr were playing on the dirt floor. Ivar, Halfden and Ragnvold were watching all of them, discussing mock battle plans.

"Did you eat already?" Gyda asked, walking over to inspect what they were doing. Like the often did back in Norway, Ålov had made up a game to play with rocks and sticks.

All of the children offered in a chant of 'Yes'.

She couldn't help but smile softly. It felt good to be home, no matter the circumstances that had led her here.

Just as she was going to ask Tofa where she could find something to eat, noises arrived from the back rooms and carried into the big hall. She didn't give it much thought until Bjórr jumped up with an exclaimed "Father!" and ran to attack Bjorn's legs. Gyda turned see her brother pick up his son and swing him over his shoulder as if he was a sack of seeds.

And then she saw him, the person attached to the voice that had peaked her ears but hadn't registered until she laid eyes on him.

He looked older, but in the best of ways. As always, his beard was trimmed and his hair long and dark. He had creases around his eyes that he hadn't had before and it made him appear older and wiser. But he was otherwise the same. He saw her too and stopped talking mid-sentence. Lagertha looked peeved until she saw that Gyda was awake and standing just feet away.

"Come, children," she said in a booming voice. "Let me show you where to find the best berries. You eat them warm off of the branches." She picked up Rorek when he waved his arms up at her and set him on her hip. "You too," she said sharply to Bjorn, who set Bjórr upon his shoulders, and Aslaug's children. They all followed her out like ducklings in a row, leaving a silence around Athelstan and Lagertha.

"I see you are doing well," she said. "If you were talking with my brother and mother then…"

"I haven't been a slave for a long time," he replied. "And no one calls me priest any more."

She smiled softly. "I'm glad. Bjorn never told me what had happened to you when he visited me a few years ago."

"I might have asked him not to."

Her eyes widened slightly. "Why would you do that?"

"I didn't want you thinking of me when you had your own life. It didn't seem right."

She frowned. "I would have liked to have…" No, she really wouldn't have. "No, you were right. I…I enjoyed my life in Norway. You were right before also…saying I should leave this place and start anew. Everything was perfectly fine until…"

She stopped herself and bit down on her bottom lip.

"Bjorn told me what happened. I'm so sorry." He took a step forward and another until he was right in front of her.

She didn't want to talk about herself any more. Everything about herself felt too raw. Everything was too connected. "Have you married?" she asked.

"Married?" he echoed, raising his eyebrows. "No. Not married."

"Do…do you want to know something?" She was skipping around in her conversation, but she couldn't help it. "Floki said something very odd to me before I left."

"Floki often does odd things," Athelstan pointed out. It was still true to this day.

"Yes but…" she lifted her eyes to meet his. They were the same dark green as Ålov's and she had to catch her breath, "he told me…he said 'I will look after him'. I didn't know what he meant." She knew now, or so she guessed. Athelstan followed her train of thought as if no time had passed. "Did he?"

He nodded. "Yes, actually, he did. I didn't quite adopt his lifestyle but…"

A rush of air left her lungs. "He must have known."

"Does it matter?"

She dropped her eyes and frowned. "I don't think so."

"Me either," he said, lifting his hand and squeezing her upper arm gently. "You have just gone through an ordeal, Gyda, you don't have to think about any of this right now."

Before he finished his sentence, she had slipped her arms around his neck and pulled him close, pressing her body against his. He didn't say anything, only wrapped an arm around her back and cradled the back of her head with his hand. She felt like she melted away into him, closing her eyes and feeling his heart beat against hers.

Floki had known. It was becoming obvious that her mother at least suspected. And it didn't matter because it was years ago and this was now and all she needed now was comfort. She could deal with everything else later, just as Athelstan said.

They stayed that way a long time. Tears leaked from her eyes and she sniffed and he held her tighter and the world fell away.

"Mother." The word came as a whisper. It was Ålov and he was poking his head inside the Longhouse.

Gyda released her hold on Athelstan and twisted around to face him. "What is it?" Her voice was kind, just the way Athelstan remembered it always to be.

"Lagertha says that we have enough berries for you to eat. Come outside!" There was a little thrill of his voice at the end of the sentence as someone came from behind him to grab him and pull him back outside. It was Bjorn.

She took in a breath and turned back to face Athelstan, resting her hands on her shoulders. "You haven't met my children."

He shook his head. "No, I haven't."

With a small nod, she took his hand and they walked outside. It was bright and bustling. She could hear Ålov yelling at Bjorn and saw her brother had her son slung over his shoulder and she couldn't help but laugh. They trailed behind, and it felt odd to be close and have their fingers touching in the middle of the village.

They ended up at the cottage by the bay. And Gyda's eyes filled with tears she hastily wiped away. Lagertha was there with all of the family's children and Floki had appeared with a young boy who looked like his shadow.

"Who lives here now?" Gyda asked no one in particular.

"I do," Athelstan said. He was still standing close to her.

"Really?" She didn't know why she whispered, but she did.

"Yes. Bjorn and Lagertha allowed me to."

Just then Rorek ran up, hands filled with berries to place in his mother's hands. His face and hands were stained purple.

"Here, these are yours," he said matter-of-factly before he went running off, only to be caught be Lagertha and forced to wash his face and hands at the waters edge.

Everyone had some berries, which were delicious. Bjorn, Bjórr and Ragnar's other sons went away after a while. Tofa was running away from Floki's son, squealing as he chased her with worms. Floki slinked off to the trees, but Athelstan and Gyda were there to watch the small brood.

Her boys were sitting in the sand. They were completely enveloped in whatever it was they were playing.

"Who is who?" Athelstan asked. They were standing by the beams holding up the small roof that hung over the front of the house.

"Rorek is the little one," she said, voice filling with only a mother's kindness. "He is small but thinks he's as big as a mountain. I think he is much like my father. And… Ålov is the oldest. He is very quiet."

"Like you," Athelstan said.

She frowned slightly because that wasn't exactly what she thought. "Do you remember asking me once about what one good thing came out of the two of us?" She motioned toward Ålov. "Don't you think he looks like you? I often thought so, but I guessed it was because I missed you. Now, I'm not so sure."

The words settled on his ears and he wasn't sure he heard her correctly. But he turned his eyes toward her eldest son. He had dark hair and from where he stood, he looked quite a lot like Athelstan when he was young. His throat closed up and he let his fingernails bit into his palms to bring him to some sort of sense.

"Are…are you saying he's my son?"

"Go talk with him." The look in his eyes was of shock but also awe and even a bit of a plea. Now that she was back here, now that she could think clearly, there was no doubt about her assumption about Ålov's lineage. She watched Athelstan walk over to the boys, crouch down and ask what they were playing. Ålov burst into a long string of rules about his rock game and instantly took Athelstan's hand to pile rocks into the palm of it.

Athelstan glanced over at her and Gyda smiled and blinked away tears that felt happy. There was really no denying it. They might as well have been twins sitting there in the dirt, counting out rocks and putting them into little formations.

She smiled and she knew she could be happy here again.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m very aware that I played around with mythos and historic accounts of some of these characters, but I’m a fiction writer so what do you expect? Harald is a real dude in history, though I tweaked his storyline. (Eric in history is his son, not his brother, but again /fiction/ writer here!)
> 
> Also if you’re a real stickler for ages like I am, the ages in the last scene are that Gyda is 26 and Athelstan is 35 since I made Gyda a year younger than Bjorn because I wasn’t sure the real ages. I tried to use as authentic names and historic people/events as possible. I hope you enjoy it and please review!
> 
> PS yes this is all thanks to Emma so y'know this wouldn't exist without her amazingness.


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